Sex Stops When You Pull Up Your

I Sometimes Feel That More Lousy Dishes Are Presented Under The Banner Of Pate Than Any Other.

I've Been Trying To Write For As Long As I Can Remember. But Those First Fifteen Years Didn't Produce Much Of Great Interest. I Mean, It Embarrasses Me Very Much To Look Back On My Early Poems--very Few Lines Of Any Merit At All And Lots Of Affectation. But There Were Quite A Lot Of Them. That's A Point In One's Favor.

I Wish I Could Have A Little Tape-and-loudspeaker Arrangement Sewn Into The Binding Of This Magazine, To Be Triggered Off By The Light Reflected From The Reader's Eyes On To This Part Of The Page, And Set To Bawl Out At Several Bels: More Will Mean Worse.

I'll Pour You The First One And After That, If You Don't Have One, It's Your Own F****** Fault. You Know Where It Is.

Those Who Professed Themselves Unable To Believe In The Reality Of Human Progress Ought To Cheer Themselves Up, As The Students Under Examination Had Conceivably Been Cheered Up, By A Short Study Of The Middle Ages. The Hydrogen Bomb, The South African Government, Chioang Kaidick, Senator Mccarthy Himself, Would Then Seem A Light Price To Pay For No Longer Being In The Middle Ages.