All language begins with speech, and the speech of common men at that, but when it develops to the point of becoming a literary medium it only looks like speech.

The plants filled the place, a forest of them, with nasty meaty leaves and stalks like the newly washed fingers of dead men.

Such is the brutalization of commercial ethics in this country that no one can feel anything more delicate than the velvet touch of a soft buck.

I'm in a wild mood tonight. I want to go dance in the foam. I hear the banshees calling.

But nothing seems to do any good.

The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back.

I guess God made Boston on a wet Sunday.