who comes to attend you and supply your want, stolidly, pleasantly, or with an independent air
Madame Grandet had no completed the woollen sleeves she was knitting, and that for want of them she caught a chill. He is never afraid of bathos.
To say that a painting is like a story is a pedestrian utterance, not altogether untrue, but uninspired, though that hardly stops people from making such invidious and unwarranted comparisons.
though I have no interest in being recondite for its own sake, I also have no gift for simplicity
I’d accepted that I could only communicate in my own way, which is to say by generating a sort of paratactical blizzard of obscure cultural references and inviting my reader to fall through it with me
