He is no longer a city dweller who has even once in his life caught a ruff or seen how, on clear and cool autumn days, flocks of m...igrating thrushes drift over a village. Until his death he will be drawn to freedom.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
That is to say, he writes the worst English that I have ever encountered. It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me ...of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm (I was about to write abscess!) of pish, and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
They may bring their fattest cattle and richest fruits to the fair, but they are all eclipsed by the show of men. These are stirri...ng autumn days, when men sweep by in crowds, amid the rustle of leaves like migrating finches; this is the true harvest of the year, when the air is but the breath of men, and the rustling of leaves is as the trampling of the crowd.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
It is as when a migrating army of mice girdles a forest of pines. The chopper fells trees from the same motive that the mouse gnaw...s them,--to get his living. You tell me that he has a more interesting family than the mouse. That is as it happens.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »