I'm never telling the truth again! It gets you hanged and locked out and starved and froze and hated . . .

I want my chirfugging goose back!

I'm never telling the truth again! It gets you hanged and locked out and starved and froze and hated . . .

Oh, painted smirk of a hopeless dawn, the girl is still wearing her breeches.

You, sir, are a romantic, and I'm afraid the condition is incurable. -Eponymous Clent

Mosca and Saracen shared, if not a friendship, at least the solidarity of the generally despised. Mosca assumed that Saracen had his reasons for his persecution of terriers and his possessive love of the malthouse roof. In turn, when Mosca had interrupted Saracen’s self-important nightly patrol and scooped him up, Saracen had assumed that she too had her reasons.

Well, you will have to do. If you had died along with your mother, I would have taught the cat to read.