with a driver who has been eating onions....

and of course there is not a stand for the next half-mile.

Oh, divine aether! as Prometheus has it, and ye swift-winged breezes (I wish there were any here), when will it all be over?
Three-and-thirty years have I endured already of this Babel of knaves and fools; and with this abominable good health of mine, which won't even help me with gout or indigestion, I am likely to have three-and-thirty years more of it....I know nothing, and I care for nothing, and I expect nothing; and I actually can't take the trouble to prick a hole in myself, and let the very small amount of wits out, to see something really worth seeing, and try its strength at something really worth doing--if, after all, the other side the grave does not turn out to be just as stupid as this one....

When will it be all over, and I in Abraham's bosom--or any one else's, provided it be not a woman's ?'.