Beneath these still solid monuments of the Doges there passes now the befezzed butcher, his bleeding lambs’ carcasses slung from hooks on two boards, which he hangs pannierwise on his pony’s back.

After the forest fire, much of the regrowth consisted of invasive non-native plant species.

War, the institution, the incessive monster which devours whole peoples, the world has learned to hate.

They had planned it as a surprise party, but somebody spilled the beans.