Little Ivy's life, as the months pass on, is a quiet, uneventful one, but exceedingly happy withal: - - - You have a strange name, my dear, the old lady says one day, and the child answers in her serious, old-fashioned way, Yes, so everyone has always said. You know my mamma died when I was born, and papa named me that because he said that I came when his heart was all aching with sorrow, and twined around it and comforted him.

[…] but if there's somebody out there that's like, 'Oh, his music is wack,' what they're really saying is he's wack... But he's like, 'I don't give a fuck 'cause this isn't even really me.'

... him that that was none of his dad-blamed hanky-pank business, although I ached to tell him that and several other things.

It is enough,' said the agitated Mr. Slurk, pacing to and fro, 'to curdle the ink in one's pen, and induce one to abandon their cause for ever.'