“It has been brought to my attention that I may be a verbivore. I consumptor of words, that I subsequently spew forth with considerable consternation.A Volley of verbs that are quite vexing has taken form, perhaps under the guise of consonants most foul!! Where have you wandered faithful vowels?”

“Listen to them again: ‘I love you.’ Subject, verb, object: the unadorned, impregnable sentence. The subject is a short word, implying the self-effacement of the lover. The verb is longer but unambiguous, a demonstrative moment as the tongue flicks anxiously away from the palate to release the vowel. The object, like the subject, has no consonants, and is attained by pushing the lips forward as if for a kiss. ‘I love you.’ How serious, how weighted, how freighted it sounds.”

“I have fallen short in my life, but my faith has always brought me home.”

“Where is that man who has forgotten words that I may have a word with him?”

“Vowels were something else. He didn't like them and they didn't like him. There were only five of them, but they seemed to be everywhere. Why, you could go through twenty words without bumping into some of the shyer consonants, but it seemed as if you couldn't tiptoe past a syllable without waking up a vowel. Consonants, you know pretty much where you stood, but you could never trust a vowel.”

“We have quite the same ideas. No; I think our ideas are quite different. But he has been most pleasant.”