Nothing Gives Quite The Satisfaction That Doing

The Writer, An Old Man With A White Moustache, Had Some Difficulty Getting Into Bed.

I Am A Lover And Have Not Found My Thing To Love.

Above All Avoid Taking The Advice Of Men Who Have No Brains And Do Not Know What They Are Talking About.

The Writing Of Words Can Lead To All Sorts Of Absurdities.

Love Is Like A Wind Stirring The Grass Beneath Trees On A Black Night,' He Had Said. 'you Must Not Try To Make Love Definite. It Is The Divine Accident Of Life. If You Try To Be Definite And Sure About It And To Live Beneath The Trees, Where Soft Night Winds Blow, The Long Hot Day Of Disappointment Comes Swiftly And The Gritty Dust From Passing Wagons Gathers Upon Lips Inflamed And Made Tender By Kisses.