[…] boys, after these so natural delays, would saunter up and down stairs of these streets where, like Napoleon, Trilby would look for cheap lunches after the reaction from the strain of having Svengali putting perfect pitch into her white throat, and where Rabelais, Ronsard, Anatole French would come to smell the rôtisseries.

There runneth forth into the sea a certaine shelfe or slang, like unto an out~thrust tongue.

'Granny, your hat squeaked,' said Tiffany. 'It went meep!' 'No it didn’t,' Granny said sharply. 'It did, you know,' said Nanny Ogg. 'I heard it, too.' Granny Weatherwax grunted and pulled off her hat. The white kitten, curled around her tight bun of hair, blinked in the light.

Lo the call is obey’d—see! see, they approach, From nimble tim whisky, to the lumb’ring old coach.