Saturday, October 22, 2011

"His reminiscences were reminiscent of a story he had told me once and which made an indelible impression upon me.
It was about a Scotch-man on his deathbed. Just as he was about to pass away his wife, seeing him struggling to say something, bends over him tenderly and says-
'What is it, Jock, what is it ye're trying to say?'
And Jock, with a last effort, raises himself wearily and says:
'Just cunt...cunt...cunt."

---Tropic of Capricorn, H.M.

No comments:

Post a Comment