Stop fawning on me.

The fawn bolted from its hiding place.

There is no such thing, at this stage of the world’s history in America, as an independent press. You know it and I know it. There is not one of you who dare write your honest opinions, and if you did, you know beforehand that it would never appear in print. I am paid weekly for keeping my honest opinions out of the paper I am connected with. Others of you are paid similar salaries for similar things, and any of you who would be foolish as to write honest opinions would be out on the streets looking for another job. If I allowed my honest opinions to appear in one issue of my papers, before twenty-four hours my occupation would be gone. The business of the journalist is to destroy the truth, to lie outright, to pervert, to vilify, to fawn at the feet of Mammon, and to sell his country and his race for his daily bread. You know it and I know it, and what folly is this toasting an independent press? We are the jumping jacks, they pull the strings and we dance. Our talents, our possibilities and our lives are all the property of other men. We are intellectual prostitutes.

Don't fawn over him!

The business of the journalist is to destroy the truth, to lie outright, to pervert, to vilify, to fawn at the feet of Mammon, and to sell his country and his race for his daily bread.

Don't fawn on me. I don't like it.

All of a sudden, Bello broke loose from his lead, bolted towards the river and leapt in. Only now do we realise the reason for this unexpected behaviour lay in the fate of a drowning fawn which the dog pulled up on the bank and thus rescued.

A roe is a kind of deer. The male is called a roebuck, the female a doe, and their young are called fawns.

When noontide drew nigh they felt more ardently in love than ever; Chloe pined and languished at the sight of Daphnis's comeliness which seemed to be without flaw or blemish, and when Daphnis beheld Chloe in her fawn-skin and with the garland of pine-leaves about her brow holding out the bowl to him, he fancied that he beheld one of the Nymphs of the grotto, and drawing near he took the garland from her head and placed it on his own.

Debussy's Prelude to the Afternoon of a Fawn and the poem which it is based on share a dreamy, ethereal, but nonetheless passionate feel.