Cats Are Only Human, They Have Their

It Is No Wonder That People Are So Horrible When They Start Life As Children.

When I Find Someone I Respect Writing About An Edgy, Nervous Wine That Dithered In The Glass, I Cringe. When I Hear Someone I Don't Respect Talking About An Austere, Unforgiving Wine, I Turn A Bit Austere And Unforgiving Myself. When I Come Across Stuff Like That And Remember About The Figs And Bananas, I Want To Snigger Uneasily. You Can Call A Wine Red, And Dry, And Strong, And Pleasant. After That, Watch Out.

Nice Things Are Nicer Than Nasty Ones.

Now And Then I Become Conscious Of Having The Reputation Of Being One Of The Great Drinkers, If Not One Of The Great Drunks, Of Our Time.

I've Been Trying To Write For As Long As I Can Remember. But Those First Fifteen Years Didn't Produce Much Of Great Interest. I Mean, It Embarrasses Me Very Much To Look Back On My Early Poems--very Few Lines Of Any Merit At All And Lots Of Affectation. But There Were Quite A Lot Of Them. That's A Point In One's Favor.