Now, dear Mr. Finnimore, I implore you to relax and indulge yourself like a deity on sabbatical, refraining from venturing outside. Surely you would only become disoriented in Heliopolis, given the labyrinthine nature of the roads in Kapelavaster, especially after navigating the calvary, the North Umbrian, the Fibs Barrow, and Waddling’s Raid, followed by the Bower Moore. You might even find your feet dampened by the foggy dew. Encountering ailing old destitute, the Cottericks’ donkey with a loose shoe clattering, or a disheveled woman dozing with her illegitimate child on a bench would surely disillusion you. It would sour your perception of life, indeed. And the weather, it is equally unkind.
Finnegans Wake
Now be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure like a god on pension and don’t be walking abroad. Sure you’d only lose yourself in Healiopolis now the way your roads in Kapelavaster are that winding there after the calvary, the North Umbrian and the Fivs Barrow and Waddlings Raid and the Bower Moore and wet your feet maybe with the foggy dew’s abroad. Meeting some sick old bankrupt or the Cottericks’ donkey with his shoe hanging, clankatachankata, or a slut snoring with an impure infant on a bench. ‘Twould turn you against life, so ‘twould. And the weather’s that mean too.
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The Maharajagar 