A round ball of a man with protruding lower lip and seal-colored eyes, [he] spun like a top from continent to continent, jabbing a pudgy forefinger at everything that stood in his way.
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He seemed embalmed in hatred.
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In America, the land of the permanent revolution, ulcers and cancer often become, for the men at the top, the contemporary equivalent of the guillotine.
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[It is a story] to satisfy the expectations of the average man, who wants awful things to happen to overprominent people.
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It is less artificial than his other comedies. The epigrams do not seem to have been added on like candied cherries on a cake.
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The elective system offered a bewildering freedom of choice, leaving some graduates with the impression that they had nibbled at dozens of canapes of knowledge and never had their fill.
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The stammer was a way of telling the world that he was not like others, a way of expressing his singularity.
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The stammerer is ambivalent about communicating with others-he desperately wants to communicate, but is afraid of revealing himself.
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When I slept, armies of footnotes marched across my dreams in close-order drill.
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