The other day I was wondering around and found a used book store in the basement of the Old South Meeting House.... I picked up a book, "The Ape in Me" by Cornelia Otis Skinner. She's a bit like Thurber and Dorothy Parker with a touch of Erma Bombeck, writing here in the late 50s. Anyway, in the entire book, a single passage was outline in pencil (with "hell") double outlined:
It's usually into the outer hallway where, after bustling into wraps and coats, they come to a dead halt. And there they linger because they all at once recall an anecdote they've forgotten to tell you, or they feel obliged to repeat some of the ones they've already told you, and there you stand on one foot, then the other, trying to make polite response and hoping that the wan leer on your face is concealing the ardent wish in your hear that they'd get the hell on out.
I just like the rage and frustration expressed in choosing that particular passage...
...also I was a little surprised at the amount of breastage on the cover.