Summary

Various Punch, or The London Charivari…

But you are wonderfully complete as you are!"
"That is so true!" acquiesced Raggie, with perfect complacency. "I am very beautiful. And you, Fustian, you are so energetically inert. Are you going to blow up to-night? You are so brilliant when you blow up."
"I have not decided either way. I never do. It will depend upon how I feel in the bonfire. I let it come if it will. The true impromptu is invariably premeditated."
"Isn't that rather self-contradictory?" said Raggie, with his pretty quick smile.
"Of course it is. Does not consistency solely consist in contradicting oneself?
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or The London Charivari…

Don't you like having your innermost shavings stimulated, Raggie?"
"There is only one stimulating thing in the world," was the languid answer; "and that is a soporific. But see, Fustian, here comes one of those unconsciously absurd persons they call policemen. How stiffly he holds himself. Why is there something so irresistibly ludicrous about every creature that possesses a spine? Perhaps because to be vertebrate is to be normal, and the normal is necessarily such a hideous monstrosity. I love what are called warped distorted figures. The only real Adonis nowadays is a Guy."
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or The London Charivari…

There is something so hopelessly middle-class about wearing perfectly new clothes. It always reminds me of that ridiculous Nature, who will persist in putting all her poor little trees into brand-new suits of hideous non-arsenical green every spring. As if withered leaves, or even nudity itself, would not really be infinitely more decent! I detest a coat that is what the world calls a 'fit!'"
"Clothes that fit," observed Lord Raggie, gravely, "are the natural penalty for possessing that dreadful deformity, a good figure.
Source: Gutenberg

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