Thou art a cobbler, art thou? Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: * * * I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes.
I saw within the wheelwright’s shedThe big round cartwheels, blue and red;A plough with blunted share;A blue tin jug; a broken chair;And paint in trial patchwork squareSlapping up against the wall;The lumber of the wheelwright’s trade,And tools on benches neatly laid,The brace, the adze, the awl;vita sackville-west
No man's plenum, Mr. Quistgaard, is impervious to the awl of God's will.Donald Barthelme
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