It was irritating to have one's physical shortcomings pointed out quite so plainly twice in one evening, once by a beautiful girl and once by a dying badger.
Books, the estate agent had told him, provide excellent insulation, and since the heating bills would be very considerable in any event, he might as well leave them there even if he had no intention of ever reading them.
After all, what else is scientific enquiry of any sort other than a controlled version of banging one's head against the universe until something gives?
You don’t go around saying “Am I happy?” all the time, unless you’re human, of course.
