O, that her hand, In whose comparison all whites are ink, Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughman.
My pappy told me never to bet my bladder against a brewery or get into an argument with people who buy Ink by the barrel.
The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns instinctively to long words and exhausted idiomslike cuttlefish squirting out Ink.
Every drop of Ink in my pen ran cold.