Love Of Life Is Born Of The

He Could Not Just Wear A Watch. It Had To Be A Rolex.

Above All, He Liked It That Everything Was One's Own Fault. There Was Only Oneself To Praise Or Blame. Luck Was A Servant And Not A Master. Luck Had To Be Accepted With A Shrug Or Taken Advantage Of Up To The Hilt. But It Had To Be Understood And Recognized For What It Was And Not Confused With A Faulty Appreciation Of The Odds, For, At Gambling, The Deadly Sin Is To Mistake Bad Play For Bad Luck. And Luck In All Its Moods Had To Be Loved And Not Feared

It Was The Same With The Whole Russian Machine. Fear Was The Impulse. For Them It Was Always Safer To Advance Than Retreat. Advance Against The Enemy And The Bullet Might Miss You. Retreat, Evade, Betray And The Bullet Would Never Miss.

He Was A Secret Agent, And Still Alive Thanks To His Exact Attention To The Detail Of His Profession.

A Dry Martini,' He Said. 'one. In A Deep Champagne Goblet.' ... Just A Moment. Three Measures Of Gordon's, One Of Vodka, Half A Measure Of Kina Lillet. Shake It Very Well Until It's Ice-cold, Then Add A Large Thin Slice Of Lemon-peel. Got It?