The Frost Makes A Flower, The Dew

Every Woman Adores A Fascist, The Boot In The Face, The Brute Brute Heart Of A Brute Like You.

The Slime Of All My Yesterdays Rots In The Hollow Of My Skull.

I’d Discovered, After A Lot Of Extreme Apprehension About What Spoons To Use, That If You Do Something Incorrect At Table With A Certain Arrogance, As If You Knew Perfectly Well You Were Doing It Properly, You Can Get Away With It And Nobody Will Think You Are Bad-mannered Or Poorly Brought Up. They Will Think You Are Original And Very Witty.

I Am I-i Am Powerful, But To What Extent? I Am I.

The One Thing I Was Good At Was Winning Scholarships And Prizes, And That Era Was Coming To An End.