The appearance of the dead was indescribably ghastly.

A pig with a pasty face, so I had said, Squealing for cookies, kinned by poor pretense With a noble house. But the little man quite dead, I see the forbears' antique lineaments.

I can't eat it if it has too much almond in it.

‘Why, Sir, we had for dinner some soals—the finest I ever saw, but they were fried in bad lard; and then, Sir, for the partridges, there was neither game gravy, nor poiverade, nor even bread sauce.’