The only moral it is possible to draw from this story is that one should never throw the Q letter into a privet bush, but unfortunately there are times when it is unavoidable.

Much to his annoyance, a thought popped into his mind. It was very clear and very distinct, and he had now come to recognize these thoughts for what they were. His instinct was to resist them.

I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always end up where I need to be.

The little waiter's eyebrows wandered about his forehead in confusion.

"Would you like to see the menu?" he said. "Or would you like to meet the Dish of the Day?" [...] "Good evening," it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches, "I am the main Dish of the Day. May I interest you in parts of my body?"

A fragrant breeze wandered up from the quiet sea, trailed along the beach, and drifted back to the sea again, wondering where to go next. On a mad impulse it went up to the beach again. It drifted back to sea.

'Totally mad,' he said, 'utter nonsense. But we'll do it because it's brilliant nonsense.'