— Mr. you so pale!
— Yes, thank you.
You know how concerned people are about appearances. This is attractive, that is not.
– I like the looks of that boy.
– The more handsome on the outside, the more rotten on the inside.
His skin was so unwholesomely deficient in the natural tinge, that he looked as though, if he were cut, he would bleed white.
– Pretty Boy. With me, I said.
– Oh, I'm Pretty Boy.
– Yes. Oh, that came out a bit quick.
If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.
I always wonder what old people looked like when they were young. It just makes me sad. Cos it's all gone, and you think, "How cruel." I suppose if you really concentrated... you might be able to imagine the old people you know as young. But it's really hard. Cos all I can see
is that they're old, ill, ugly... And their life's over.
You look like a needle. You look like a gutted worm. You look like the number 11.
— You know when you go on like this what you sound like?
— I sound like a sensible fucking man, that's what I sound like.
— You sound like a duck.
At least I’m not American fat, I’m interesting European delicatessen fat!
To keep oneself in the angelic shape is hellish labor.