And I can't admit of an old boy of a God who takes walks in his garden with a cane in his hand, who lodges his friends in the belly of whales, dies uttering a cry, and rises again at the end of three days; things absurd in themselves, and completely opposed, moreover, to all physical laws, Which proves to us, by the way, that priests have always wallowed in torpid ignorance, in which they would fain engulf the people with them.'

Clearly I can't go to bed without having them answered.

But after the great Russian myth I believe nothing that I can't prove.

He knows he can't get a worse one than his own.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't."

You can't trust your dearest friend there.

It can't have been a Labour man, for no Labour man could put a silk hat on in a moment of abstraction.

Jones's eyeglass would drop out of his eye because he would know it only made him look foolish, Brown would see the ugliness of his cant, and Robinson would sorry that he had been born a bully and as prickly as a hedgehog.

Now, you can't deny it, for the night is dark and the wind is cold and all the earth is a graveyard.

The owl can't help being an owl.

Our thinking as a people can't be right when our symbols are wrong.

I've got a load of coal to take there, and I've been up and down this road in the dark twice, and can't make out where it is."

He doesn't fit any doorway; he can't buy ready-made clothes; if he sleeps in a strange bed he has to leave his feet outside; and in the railway carriage or a bus he has to tie his legs into uncomfortable knots to keep them out of the way.

He can't write yet....

And we can't get out of the suit on any terms, for we are made parties to it, and must be parties to it, whether we like it or not.

Call it madness, and I tell you I can't help it now, and can't be sane.

Call it madness, and I tell you I can't help it now, and can't be sane.

Jesus will help you; you can't fight without Him.'

I can't seem to think of a name quite ugly enough.

You can't catch me!'

The angels can't like to hear quallering so close to them.'

He looked toward Margaretpast Margaret, toward the gleaming windows of Selwoode, where the Eagle brooded: "Oh, I really can't say," Margaret cried, in haste.

"It makes me so distrustful, and I can't help it!" He smiled at her wistfully.

And, really, I can't compliment you on your methods, Mr. Woods; they are a little vague, a little abrupt, a little transparent, don't you think?" "Peggy!"

I can't protest.