All kings is mostly rapscallions, as fur as I can make out. — Mark Twain

There warn't no color in his face, where his face showed; it was white; not like another man's white, but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body's flesh crawl—a tree-toad white, a fish-belly white.

The average man don’t like trouble and danger.

I couldn’t bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn’t think about nothing else.