I take you all to witness, that there surgeon, or apothecary, or farrier, or dogdoctor, or whatsoever he may be, has robbed me of the balsam of life:—he has not left so much blood in my body as would fatten a starved flea.

A saying that her mother used abracadabrant on all occasions, came to her mind: “you cannot teach an old monkey to make faces.”[…]The falling building, the broken furniture, the abracadabrant arrangement of the cheap functional and the genius.

But he [Andrew Wyeth] did not want to become an all-American illustrator like the Post's illustrious Norman Rockwell – and he had heard his own father, an illustrator, bemoan choosing the path of mammon rather than the path of virtue, and declined.

Oh, that kind, retorted Carl, uptilting his chin a little. Carl never did like to own up he had made a mistake.