Stuff it into you, his belly counselled him. - James Joyce

But there was no harshness in the eyes which, looking at the world from under their tawny eyebrows, gave the impression of a man ever alert to greet a redeeming instinct in others but often disappointed. He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a predicate in the past tense.

Horseness is the whatness of allhorse. Streams of tendency and eons they worship. God: noise in the street: very peripatetic.

Write it, damn you, write it! What else are you good for?