Of Time and the River: A Legend of Man's Hunger in His Youth
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Book by Wolfe, Thomas
not able to do—for you can rest assured”—and here she paused, looking her daughter gravely in the eyes—“you can rest assured that nature is the best physician in the end! Now, I’ve always said as much, and all the best authorities agree with me. Why, yes, now!—here!—say!—wasn’t I readin’ in the paper—oh! here along, you know a week or so ago—Doctor Royal S. Copeland!—yes, sir!—that was the very feller—why, he said, you know—” she went on in explanatory fashion. “Oh, but, Mama!” Helen said,
when he asked her where to go to have it made, she had sent him to this place because her brother had his suits made there and liked it. The fitter was a heavy shambling man in his late thirties: he had receding hair, which he brushed back flat in a thick pompadour; yellowish, somewhat bulging eyes; a coarse heavy face, loose-featured, red, and sensual; a sloping meaty jaw, and large discoloured buck-teeth which showed unpleasantly in a mouth that was always half open. It was, in fact, the mouth
Altamont—steam shut off (perhaps) and the high small ear-tickling dynamic noise they make. Tuesday—December 2, 1924: MOCK LITERARY ANECDOTES: Young mannered voice of Harvard johnny: “Oh! Simply priceless! Don’t you l-o-o-ve that? … Marvellous!” etc.—telling what Oscar said to Whistler, and what Whistler answered him. A certain kind of mind collects these—pale, feeble, rootless, arty, hopeless, lost—Joel Pierce tells them, too. First time I heard them at Harvard what sophisticated
frozen hahd; an’ she has the nuhve to ask me if it’s cold! Is it cold!’ I says. ‘Do you know any more funny stories?’ I says. Oh, how I do love my bed! Chee! I kept thinkin’ of that guy in Braintree I got to go see today an’ the more I thought about him, the less I liked him! I thought my feet would tu’n into two blocks of ice before I got the funniss stahted! ‘Chee! I hope the ole bus is still workin’,’ I says. If I’ve got to go thaw that damned thing out,’ I says, ‘I’m ready to quit.’ Chee!
of them with whom it was possible to carry on a coherent conversation? Did you ever find one of them who would respond to the processes of reason and ordered thought? My dear boy!” he cried, “you cannot talk to them. I assure you, you cannot talk to them. You might as well whistle into the wind or spit into the waters of the Nile, for all the good it will do you. In his youth man will bare the riches of his spirit to them, will exhaust the rich accumulations of his genius—his wisdom, his