Life should serve up its feast of experience in a series of courses.

Serve you right if something did get you, you useless lot of cry-babies!

I've come across a novel called The Palm-Wine Drinkard, by the Nigerian writer Amos Tutuola, that is really remarkable because it is a kind of fantasy of West African mythology all told in West African English which, of course, is not the same as standard English.

We're not savages. We're English.

His mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.

The beast was harmless and horrible; and the news must reach the others as soon as possible.

We have a disharmony in our natures. We cannot live together without injuring each other.