The world was a sick animal, a sort of huge cancerous tumour, a thing of bubbling liquids, whitish patches, dribbling pus, fantastic pimples of dead skin that grew in all directions, swelled up, became more and more like fuzzy hair. The right thing would be to go away, to vanish for ever from the face of the sun.

How beautiful are these bangles! But if you put them on a man, he will not like it because he has assessed his own worth. One cannot be the —thermometer (gauge)' as well as the —fever', both cannot be one.