You know: in a foolish, undiscriminating way, I've been happy these last few months. I don't know why. I just am. I love my friends; I love my pupils; I love what I read; I -- dammit -- love my thoughts. I love the taste of oranges.
Thornton Wilder in a letter to Gertrude Stein, Aug 14, 1936

Sunday, July 29, 2012


Let me tell you now of a marvel that occurred while Bayan was besieging the city. It happened after King Facfur had taken to flight, that a multitude of the townsfolk were fleeing by way of a broad, deep river that flows by one side of the city. All of a sudden, while they were actually on the river, the water completely dried up, so that Bayan, on learning the news, came to this part and compelled all the fugitives to return to the city. And a fish was found lying high and dry across the river-bed -- and what a fish! For it was fully one hundred paces long, but its girth was by no means proportionate to its length. Its whole body was hairy. Many people ate of it, and many who did so died. Messer Marco, as he relates, saw the head of this fish with his own eyes in a certain temple of idols.

The Travels of Marco Polo
Edited by R. E. Latham
Penguin Edition

(The hairiest fist I could find was the Hairy Frog Fish. It is not 100 paces long, but it is very hairy, most unappetizing, and quite aggressive. It even stalks a flounder.)

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