And there the Turk, who holds thee with dog's teeth And makes of thee a valley of sad tears, O paradisial land of old Ionia; And here, our Mother Greece, Dream-weaver of unending laurel-wreaths Beside her Cretan helmsman and her king!

“Well if you're gonna be in here jerking it the whole time, don't leave your cumsocks around for me to find.”

I think he picked me out like a rug for his living room, and he made a bad mistake. I doubt if he’s capable of loving anyone, really. What he has is a kind of acquisitiveness, which isn’t much separate from his ambition.

Alternative form: grasseater