More Than A Means Of Communication


“Language is my mother, my father, my husband, my brother, my sister, my whore, my mistress, my checkout-girl. Language is a complementary moist lemon-scented cleansing squire or handy freshen up towelette. Language is the breath of God. Language is the dew on a fresh apple. It’s the soft rain of dust that falls over a shaft of morning light as you pluck from an old bookshelf; a half forgotten book of erotic memoires. Language is the creak on a stair. It’s a spluttering match held to a frosted pain. It’s a half remembered childhood birthday party. It’s the warm wet trusting touch of a leaking nappy, the hulk of a charred panzer, the underside of a granite bolder, the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl. It’s cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.”

– Stephen Fry

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