The gate was five-barred, put together from crooked tree limbs, grey corkwood and sally wattle, iron coachbolts drilled through at the joints […] .

Out of all men beg for a chance to drill your lots, maybe one in twenty will be oilmen.

If the world cannot be rational in my sense, in the sense of unconditional surrender, I refuse to grant that it is rational at all. It is pure incoherence, a chaos, a nulliverse, to whose haphazard sway I will not truckle.

And in divin’ back into history as fur as I’ve doven I want to give suitable credit to my chumb, Uncle Simon Bentley.[…]I wuz astounded to see how deep Uncle Sime had doven into the great mysteries of human existence, not but what I’d have thought it out myself, if I’d had time from fambly cares.