It was one of those cold, clammy, accusing sort of eyes--the kind that makes you reach up to see if your tie is straight: and he looked at me as I were some sort of unnecessary product which Cuthbert the Cat had brought in after a ramble among the local ash-cans.

He trusted neither of them as far as he could spit, and he was a poor spitter, lacking both distance and control.

It was a cold, disapproving gaze, such as a fastidious luncher who was not fond of caterpillars might have directed at one which he had discovered in his porti…

Has anybody ever seen a drama critic in the daytime? Of course not. They come out after dark, up to no good.

Eyes of unholy blue.

My appearance still made people laugh, with that hearty jovial laugh so good for the health.

My psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I said I want a second opinion. He said okay, you're ugly too.