Kill The Pig. Cut Her

The Water Rose Further And Dressed Simon's Coarse Hair With Brightness. The Line Of His Cheek Silvered And The Turn Of His Shoulder Became Sculptured Marble.

Are We Savages Or What?

I Am Not A Theologian Or A Philosopher. I Am A Story Teller.

Sleep Is When All The Unsorted Stuff Comes Flying Out As From A Dustbin Upset In A High Wind.

Percival Was Mouse-coloured And Had Not Been Very Attractive Even To His Mother.