If You Have To Do It, You

I Loved Her Like A Rabbit Loves A Rattlesnake

You Usually Can Tell When A Writer Is Going Down Hill By The Size Of His Liquor Bill.

I Had Killed A Man, For Money And A Woman. I Didn't Have The Money And I Didn't Have The Woman.

She Was A Little Given To Rehearsing Things In Her Mind, And Having Imaginary Triumphs Over People Who Had Upset Her In One Way And Another.

I Make No Conscious Effort To Be Tough, Or Hard-boiled, Or Grim, Or Any Of The Things I Am Usually Called.