'What an unutterable catastrophe!' The apothecary always had the proper expression ready, whatever the occasion.

Poor little thing! She's gasping for love like a carp on a kitchen table gasping for water.

And they talked about the mediocrity of provincial life, so suffocating, so fatal to all noble dreams.

Nevertheless the flames did die down -- whether exhausted from lack of supplies or choked by excessive feeding. Little by little, love was quenched by absence;…

Language is the net that holds thought trapped within a particular culture. But if one could only strike the ball with sufficient force, with perfect timing, i…

There is no language like the Irish for soothing and quieting.

You just don't expect posh girls to grab your tits, call your trousers 'too clitty' and use words like 'pussy pelmet' but they do. You are so shocked by what t…