From the ground, Colombo’s port does not look like much. Those entering it are greeted by wire fences, walls dating back to colonial times and security posts. For mariners leaving the port after lonely nights on the high seas, the delights of the B52 Night Club and Stallion Pub lie a stumble away.

But supposing that heaven had a Lord, then all included in its overspreadings and supportings, throughout the myriad of states, and within the four seas, would invariably be under the government of Heaven's Lord […]

[…] not a ha'porth of him left but a goodish piece of his skin, just for all the world like a hedgehog's, and a piece o' old iron furbished up.

I ordered a split shot latte.