“But round your image there is no fog, and the Earthcan still astonish.”

“Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon, and hanging in the misty clouds.”

“Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among green airs and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city.... Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.”

“O my choice beautyYou've goneBut your love remains in my heartYour image in my eyeO guide on my winding roadI keep turning round and round in the hopes ofFinding you”

“[Y]ou're in a fog. When you circle round, you watch us live. You watch us struggle and you're envious.”

“Astonishing, really, that they still look human. They ought to look like megaphones, like screams, like brutal desires, like beery ecstasies... like decadent barism. But the unconscious drive to remain in God's image seems to be so strong that not even the six-day races can quite eradicate it.”