According to fiction, the hillman is a seven-foot combination of malnutrition and hookworm, asleep on his front porch with the dog...s. His great bare feet, dangling off the porch, flap from time to time when the flies get too pesky, but nothing awakens him except a hound's salute to a stranger. Then he shoots up his astounding neck to its full length, ogles the visitor, and on his hunting horn blows a series of long and short blasts that means, "Hide yore stills and oil yore guns; they air a stranger h'yar."LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
So by all means let's have a television show quick and long, even if the commercial has to be delivered by a man in a white coat w...ith a stethoscope hanging around his neck, selling ergot pills. After all the public is entitled to what it wants, isn't it? The Romans knew that and even they lasted four hundred years after they started to putrefy.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
White teeth, white hands, and neck as ivory white, Black eyes, black brows, black hairs that hide delight:... Red lips, red cheeks, and tops of nipples red, Long legs, long fingers, long locks of her head, Short feet, short ears, and teeth in measure short, Broad front, broad breast, broad hips in seemely sort, Straight legs, straight nose and straight her pleasures place, Full thighs, full buttocks, full her belly's space, Thin lips, thin eyelids, and hair thin and fine, Small mouth, small waist, small pupils of her eyes.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 »
Then came Corinna in a long loose gown, Her white neck hid with tresses hanging down,... Resembling fair Semiramis going to bed,LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
I now first began to be seriously molested by the black fly, a very small but perfectly formed fly of that color, about one tenth ...of an inch long, which I first felt, and then saw, in swarms about me, as I sat by a wider and more than usually doubtful fork in this dark forest path. The hunters tell bloody stories about them,--how they settle in a ring about your neck, before you know it, and are wiped off in great numbers with your blood. But remembering that I had a wash in my knapsack,... I made haste to apply it to my face and hands, and was glad to find it effectual ... not only against black flies, but all the insects that molested us.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
That a lover forsaken A new love may get;... But a neck, when once broken, Can never be set: And, that he could die Whenever he would; But, that he could live But as long as he could;LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
He bore her away in his arms, The handsomest young man there,... And his neck and his breast and his arms Were drowned in her long dim hair.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »