It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia.

The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen.

Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then she continued her way. On her way she met a copy.

When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane.