[F]rom the hall wherein the mourners died / A grey wolf glared, and o'er his head the bat / Hung, and the paddock on the hearth-stone sat.
[W]hilst I was thus musing, and attentively looking upon the Water, to try whether I could discover the Bottom, it happened to me, as it often does to those that gaze too stedfastly on swift Streams, that my Head began to grow giddy, and my Leggs to stagger towards the River, into which questionless I had fell, if Philaretus had not seasonably and obligingly prevented it.
If you've just acquired a Google Glass headset for £1,000, don't show it off at the movies. UK cinemas are to ban the headsets over fears that the gadgets can be used to make pirate copies of Hollywood blockbusters.
Or is it possible that tropicalism is not a geographical zone, but rather a zone of the spirit, the zone of highest passion, the immense homeland of zealots?
