...seeing the way his trousers clung to those most English parts.

What your mind sees when you close your eyes marks the entrance to an endless universe: your imagination.

I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.

The organism - there was no other thing she could think to call it - churned and moved as it propelled itself across the ground, the living bodies of animals briefly appearing before being submerged in a sea of bugs as others rose to the surface. And then there were the bones. At first she didn't quite understand what she was seeing. For a moment she believed that they were pieces of wood - limbs of trees picked up by the undulating mass - but when she saw the skull, its jaw hanging open in a silent scream, she understood the horror of what it was. the remains of victims were a part of its body, flowing within the multitude that made up its mass.

His was a great sin who first invented consciousness. Let us lose it for a few hours.

[Lizzie Bennington to a reporter who has asked for her opinion about Jack Archer's celebrated thighs.] __hen you come back from a set down and bring the match to a final set tiebreak and are a point away from winning the match, only to have what looks like an extremely fit player call a time out because of a cramp and then watch that player sit back and casually converse and laugh while you do your best to keep your mental focus and your body moving so you don__ grow cold and cramp yourself, I hardly think you__ concern yourself with his burgeoning manhood, let alone his thighs!