my slobgullion

I kept looking at her … I blinked both eyes … I felt dizzy … I buried my nose in my slobgullion … Nora was her name … Nora Merrywin …

Louis-Ferdinand Celine, Death on the Installment Plan


the minute

Women always want to know everything … the minute you refuse to talk …

Louis-Ferdinand Celine, Death on the Installment Plan

poison runs

… She tries to explain … She speaks very slowly … She pronounces each word separately … Well, then I begin to feel jumpy … I shrivel up … The poison runs through me … As soon as anybody starts talking to me I get mean … I didn’t want any more gabfests … Save your breath! I’ve had enough! … I know what it leads to … you can’t fool me …

Louis-Ferdinand Celine, Death on the Installment Plan

skin and bone

‘Yes, they’ve sat themselves to skin and bone,’ he said. ‘An’ now they’re not all that anxious to come out an’ feed. There’s no self in a sitting hen; she’s all in the eggs or the chicks.’

D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover

made use

‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘It’s as your Ladyship likes. If you get the baby, Sir Clifford’s welcome to it. I shan’t have lost anything. On the contrary, I’ve had a very nice experience, very nice indeed!’—and he stretched in a half-suppressed sort of yawn. ‘If you’ve made use of me,’ he said, ‘it’s not the first time I’ve been made use of; and I don’t suppose it’s ever been as pleasant as this time; though of course one can’t feel tremendously dignified about it.’—He stretched again, curiously, his muscles quivering, and his jaw oddly set.

D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover

bad temper

But I’ve got to work, or I should die. That is, I’ve got to have something that keeps me occupied. And I’m not in a good enough temper to work for myself. It’s got to be a sort of job for somebody else, or I should throw it up in a month, out of bad temper.

D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover

perform nightly

I can’t speak for all dancers, for each individual is different. I can only say that it is not the applause that I remember after a performance, it is my reverence: I thank God for a gift that I can give to my audience—joy, happiness, sometimes a depth of their own feelings. I hope to touch them in some way, without speech; only through my body and heart can I pass this to them. And even then, it is just for a moment, at best a fleeting one. This is what we live for to perform nightly.

Janet Sassoon, Reverence