[John Craske] painted like a man giving witness under oath to a wild story.
There are not enough poems in praise of bed.
I wish I could write librettos for the rest of my life. It is the purest of human pleasures, a heavenly hermaphroditism of being both writer and musician. No wonder that selfish beast Wagner kept it all to himself.
The baby romped on my lap like a short stout salmon.
To think of losing is to lose already.
Rouen shone in dark sunlight and a storm swept it away from my eyes and churned up the broad river with waves which pounced up like cats as our train drew out of the arches of the bridge.