I Write Fast, Because I Have Not

And Boucard Desisted, Probably Because Like Everyone Else He Was Deeply Impressed By This Man Who Had Laid All Ghosts, Who Had Lost All Shadows, And Who Stared You In The Eyes With Cold Serenity.

Madame....gloatingly Savored Her Words As Earlier She Had Savored Her Pig's Trotter.

I Write Fast, Because I Have Not The Brains To Write Slow.

The Place Smelled Of Fairgrounds, Of Lazy Crowds, Of Nights When You Stayed Out Because You Couldn't Go To Bed, And It Smelled Like New York, Of Its Calm And Brutal Indifference.

If Your Vision Of The World Is Of A Certain Kind You Will Put Poetry In Everything, Necessarily.