The Cat Is Domestic Only As Far

You Needn't Tell Me That A Man Who Doesn't Love Oysters And Asparagus And Good Wines Has Got A Soul, Or A Stomach Either. He's Simply Got The Instinct For Being Unhappy Highly Developed.

And The Vagueness Of His Alarm Added To Its Terrors; When Once You Have Taken The Impossible Into Your Calculations Its Possibilities Become Practically Limitless.

A Beautifully Constructed Borshch, Such As You Are Going To Experience Presently, Ought Not Only To Banish Conversation But Almost To Annihilate Thought.

He Seems The Incarnation Of Everything Soft And Silky And Velvety, Without A Sharp Edge In His Composition, A Dreamer Whose Philosophy Is Sleep And Let Sleep.

I Hate Babies. They're So Human.