The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum.

He thought what a pity it was that all his faces were designed to express rage or loathing. Now that something had happened that really deserved a face, 14 he'd none to celebrate it with. As a kind of token, he made his Sex Life in Ancient Rome face.

Politics is a thing that only the unsophisticated can really go for.

Work was like cats were supposed to be: if you disliked and feared it and tried to keep out if its way, it knew at once and sought you out and jumped on your lap and climbed all over you to show how much it loved you. Please God, he thought, don't let me die in harness.

More will mean worse.

He was of the faith chiefly in the sense that the church he currently did not attend was Catholic.

It was no wonder that people were so horrible when they started life as children.

I was never an Angry Young Man. I am angry only when I hit my thumb with a hammer.

Booze, of course, and then curtains.