I'm the strayest dog you'll ever meet.
I don't know that there are haunted houses. I know that there are dark staircases and haunted people.
A hundred men together are the hundredth part of a man.
I've met so many people, often the scum of the earth, and found them, you know, quite decent. I am an uncomfortable stranger to moral indignation.
Freaks are the much needed escape from the humdrum. They are poetry.
His voice was as intimate as the rustle of sheets.
Groups of people are like a massive Rock, Paper, Scissors war.
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?