One is never alone with a rubber duck.

Fiordland, a vast tract of mountainous terrain that occupies the south-west corner of South Island, New Zealand, is one of the most astounding pieces of land anywhere on God's earth, and one's first impulse, standing on a cliff top surveying it all, is simply to burst into spontaneous applause.

They live in perpetual fear of the time they call "The Coming of the Great White Handkerchief

The party and the Krikkit warship looked, in their writhings, a little like two ducks, one of which is trying to make a third duck inside the second duck, whilst the second duck is trying very hard to explain that it doesn't feel ready for a third duck right now, is uncertain that it would want any putative third duck anyway, and certainly not whilst it, the second duck, was busy flying.

The mere thought hadn't even begun to speculate about the merest possibility of crossing my mind.

He actually caught himself saying things like "Yippee," as he pranced ridiculously round the house.

A beach house isn't just real estate. It's a state of mind.