
I am almost completely buried this weekend, so I'm afraid the world will have to do with an abbreviated bit of squeeing.
In The Wolves in the Walls, by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean, there is a page that is *particularly* awesome. The last panel always hits me in the diaphragm; I have to still for a moment and breathe out slowly.
It's poetry, in the way that true things are.

Click on the image to get a bigger copy.
From:
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From:
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The book to avoid, if you fear this piece, is The Tragical Comedy or Comical Tragedy of Mr. Punch, by the same names. That book is *creepy*.