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Sophie, why do you thread, transpierce another crumpet? Who is that crumpet for? For whom is that crumpet, say?’
a deeply stupid, griping, illiberal, avid, tenacious, pinchfist lickpenny, a sordid lickpenny and a shrew,
Okay this rivals "thou swaggart! thou foolish tart! fetch me an ale at once, thou scurvy-ridden rump-fed mud sloth!" which was previously my go-to insult.
‘I believe you have put in more than ever I said,’ said Stephen, narrowing his eyes. ‘You blush extremely.
‘Because Duhamel tells us that the red is fixed and concentrated in their bones. I wished to find the rate of penetration, and to know whether it reached the marrow. I shall know in time, however: M’Alister and I will dissect all suitable subjects, for the effect will be passed to those that ate them, of course; and I tell you soberly, Jack, that if you persist in this dogged, self-defeating hurry, hurry, hurry, clap on more sails, not a moment to be lost, then most of the people will pass through our hands, including, no doubt, that black thief whose very bones will blush for shame.’
‘He only ate it when it was dead,’ said Jack. ‘It would have been a strangely hasty, agitated meal, had he ate it before,’
Stephen looked sharply round, saw the decanter, smelt to the sloth, and cried, ‘Jack, you have debauched my sloth.’
. . . tes moeurs crapuleuses . . . tu cherches à corrompre mon paresseux . . . va donc, eh, salope . . . espèce de fripouille’,
‘Why, my dear, I am no great friend to marriage, as you know; and sometimes I wonder whether you may not set too great a store on a contract compelling you to be happy – whether any arrival can amount to the sum of voyages – whether, in fact, it would not be better to travel indefinitely.’
Then we upon our globe’s last verge shall go. And view the ocean leaning on the sky; From thence our rolling neighbours we shall know, And on the lunar world securely pry by God I believe I see the albatross.’ ‘ . . . believe I see the albatross,’ said Bonden’s lips silently. ‘It don’t rhyme.
A little before dawn the wind veered a point, two points, blowing with sudden flaws, vacuums that hurt his ears; it reached a screaming note more savage than anything he had heard and his heart hurt him for the staysail, for the ship – an edge of sentiment and self-pity, with Sophia’s name hovering on the edge of utterance aloud.
they have chosen their cake, and must lie on it.’ ‘You mean, they cannot have their bed and eat it.’ ‘No, no, it is not quite that, neither. I mean – I wish you would not confuse my mind, Stephen.
She ran skipping down the hill: he watched her until she vanished in the twilight, her gleaming arms held out like wings and the letter grasped in her mouth.
‘had he ever considered the ship thus seen as a figure of the present – the untouched sea before it as the future – the bow-wave as the moment of perception, of immediate existence?’
