Another volume of ghost stories by Mrs. [Catherine] Crowe!—as grim and horrifying as the Night Side of Nature, which sends one to bed with a shudder, and lends an awful deliberation to the act of putting out the candle. These pages would literally be frightful if they were not at the same time fascinating. You never know at what turn in the narrative to look for the sudden bit of description, which is to thrill the nerves and horripilate the forehead.

The French Dispatch has to be one of the most labour-intensive films in existence. It makes The Grand Budapest Hotel look as if it was improvised over a weekend and shot with a smartphone.

I inadvertently gave the afro-american delivery boi a $5 tip probably due to the fact that I had pickled a few brain cells.

From the most ancient times to the present, in the crudest primitive tribe or the most magnificently ornamented civilization, man has found himself in a state of awed helplessness when confronted by the phenomena of strange illnesses or aberrations.