The whole nomothetic, Kantean harangue was obviated when the already physically worn-out, almost filipendulous 80-year old professor plotzed and fainted at the bang of some door closing somewhere near - students ignored him and continued chatting and texting and reading.
The owner of the envelope factory, an old curmudgeon full of mulligrubs, insisted on a calendrical parietal separation of the plication section shifts: on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, men folded the paper for envelopes; on Tuesdays and Thursdays - women.
A blousy, haggard panhandler spewed enigmatic and uncanny clairvoyancies right in my face -- the worst part was how verily and calmly he was abusing me and my future.
Professor Rosseforp, bombinating his theric lectures, I've always used to decorticate my mind, wash away all thought in the hum of his donnish waterfall, ahhhh..; afterwards, thus stripped and scrubbed, I would drag myself home, to cutify and roughen again in the ado and fluster of our family's daily dysfunction.
For a while I considered these letters to be exact ex post facto maquettes of the situation, fruits of sober afterthought and reflection - but later on still, in my book, I introduced them nowise but as purely belletrisitic exercises.
Her smooth, purling voice mithered on and on about the desolation of the gardens and the consequent impossibility of fructification and profit.
Penitent about his risque jokes and scherzando manner, he retreats to hydromancy of grain spirits to glimpse a better world.
Useful, even if aliquant and uneven in its usefulness throughout its 26 volumes, the Complete and Unabridged Epigraphy and Heraldry Anthology scuppered all previous studies in the field, only to be gone and disappear in the maw of void that is our public library system.
The study included a detailed phylogeny of the auteur's pyrotechnics--how his firework installations evolved from voluptuous luxuriousness to gallant understatement.
Always apt and willing complices of an experienced miserabilist, minute pilikia and grandiose disaster have never failed to give frown to his brow on some hideously warm and cheery day.
It's like.. like.. as if you're very, very hungry, and, naturally, your desideratum is a steak, but your girlfriend has 'no time for lunching', so okay you pretend to be suaded by her and considerate of her 'needs', and stop quickly to glutch five cheap hot dogs in two minutes from some hobo foodstand - all this only to find out that the guy is not a hobo, but a hippie, and the dogs, naturally, are not dogs - so like, you want steak, concede to hot dogs, but even those are not dogs - yeah, that's exactly how dissatisfied I feel!!
She had the durance to appear merry and frolicking in the face of the media literally flensing and eating her alive under the pretense that she was the makebate of some major scandal.
At full speed along the new corniche he ignored the seascape and tried to keep himself from mewling and sobbing, daunted by the catch-22 that fate had seemingly trapped him in.
The commemoration of the fantast ('prophetic genius') redounds to the significance of his work, so far only appreciated by few literati and rare afficionados.
"Because of the pouring cloudburst," the hotel boniface belabored in his fine copperplate, "we are unable to have the pleasure of accommodating you until the next day."
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