These great and beautiful ships, imperceptibly rocking like waddling ducks on tranquil waters, these robust ships, with their idle... and nostalgic air, aren't they telling us in a silent tongue: When are we leaving for happiness?LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Where has it all gone? I remember that twenty years ago there were geese and cranes and ducks and grouse here, clouds of them!... ...And there are far fewer animals. Wolf and fox are rare, brother, not to mention bears or mink. There used even to be moose!LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
There are various orders of beauty, causing men to make fools of themselves in various styles ... but there is one order of beauty... which seems made to turn the heads not only of men, but of all intelligent mammals, even of women. It is a beauty like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle and to engage in conscious mischief--a beauty with which you can never be angry, but that you feel ready to crush for inability to comprehend the state of mind into which it throws you.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Maybe I couldn't make it. Maybe I don't have a pretty smile, good teeth, nice tits, long legs, a cheeky arse, a sexy voice. Maybe ...I don't know how to handle men and increase my market value, so that the rewards due to the feminine will accrue to me. Then again, maybe I'm sick of the masquerade. I'm sick of pretending eternal youth. I'm sick of belying my own intelligence, my own will, my own sex. I'm sick of peering at the world through false eyelashes, so everything I see is mixed with a shadow of bought hairs; I'm sick of weighting my head with a dead mane, unable to move my neck freely, terrified of rain, of wind, of dancing too vigorously in case I sweat into my lacquered curls. I'm sick of the Powder Room. I'm sick of pretending that some fatuous male's self-important pronouncements are the objects of my undivided attention, I'm sick of going to films and plays when someone else wants to, and sick of having no opinions of my own about either. I'm sick of being a transvestite. I refuse to be a female impersonator. I am a woman, not a castrate.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
My wife and I have asked a crowd of craps To come and waste their time and ours: perhaps... You'd care to join us? In a pig's arse, friend.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »