Some women even tried the solar cooker—a matter of some satisfaction, since a day's fuel needs of a tribal village burn away a summerful of solar-energy trapped in dry twigs.

With him there rode a gentle pardonere / Of Ronceval, his friend and his compere, / That straight was comen from the court of Rome.

The applicants are mostly Oxbridge, so you'd better watch out.

He made Yossarian think of cripples and of cold and hungry men and women, and of all the dumb, passive, devout mothers with catatonic eyes nursing infants outdoors that same night with chilled animal udders bared insensibly to that same raw rain.