I've Been Homesick For Countries I've Never

A Lonely Man Is A Lonesome Thing, A Stone, A Bone, A Stick, A Receptacle For Gilbey's Gin, A Stooped Figure Sitting At The Edge Of A Hotel Bed, Heaving Copious Sighs Like The Autumn Wind.

For Me, A Page Of Good Prose Is Where One Hears The Rain And The Noise Of Battle. It Has The Power To Give Grief Or Universality That Lends It A Youthful Beauty.

Everything Outside Was Elegant And Savage And Fleshy. Everything Inside Was Slow And Cool And Vacant. It Seemed A Shame To Stay Inside.

The Secret Of Keeping Young Is To Read Children's Books. You Read The Books They Write For Little Children And You'll Keep Young. You Read Novels, Philosophy, Stuff Like That And It Makes You Feel Old.

If There Is Anybody I Detest, It Is Weak-minded Sentimentalists-all Those Melancholy People Who, Out Of An Excess Of Sympathy For Others, Miss The Thrill Of Their Own Essence And Drift Through Life Without Identity, Like A Human Fog, Feeling Sorry For Everyone.