I don’t suppose she would recognize a deep, beautiful thought if you handed it to her on a skewer with… — P.G. Wodehouse

...his head emerged cautiously, like that of a snail taking a look around after a thunderstorm.

Aunt Agatha, who eats broken bottles and wears barbed wire next to the skin.

It is no use telling me there are bad aunts and good aunts. At the core, they are all alike. Sooner or later, out pops the cloven hoof.