merlin:

“Thing I learned lunching with my 79 year old mother yesterday: Dylan Thomas once ran his hand up her skirt.”

— Madeline, who still hasn’t shared the details of what happened under my mother-in-law’s Milk Wood

Alone in the hissing laboratory of his wishes, Mr Pugh minces among bad vats and jeroboams, tiptoes through spinneys of murdering herbs, agony dancing in his crucibles, and mixes especially for Mrs Pugh a venomous porridge unknown to toxicologists which will scald and viper through her until her ears fall off like figs, her toes grow big and black as balloons, and steam comes screaming out of her navel.

— Dylan Thomas, Under Milk Wood