The Boy Spoke Two Words, The First

We Didn't Exactly Believe Your Story.' Then --?' 'we Believed Your Two Hundred Dollars.' 'you Mean --' She Seemed Not To Know What He Meant. 'i Mean That You Paid Us More Than If You'd Been Telling The Truth,' He Explained Blandly, 'and Enough More To Make It All Right.

The Face She Made At Me Was Probably Meant For A Smile. Whatever It Was, It Beat Me. I Was Afraid She'd Do It Again, So I Surrendered

You're Drunk, And I'm Drunk, And I'm Just Exactly Drunk Enough To Tell You Anything You Want To Know. That's The Kind Of Girl I Am. If I Like A Person, I'll Tell Them Anything They Want To Know. Just Ask Me. Go Ahead, Ask Me.

I Distrust A Man That Says When. If He's Got To Be Careful Not To Drink To Much It's Because He's Not To Be Trusted When He Does.

When You Write, You Want Fame, Fortune And Personal Satisfaction. You Want To Write What You Want To Write And Feel It's Good, And You Want This To Go On For Hundreds Of Years. You're Not Likely Ever To Get All These Things, And You're Not Likely To Give Up Writing And Commit Suicide If You Don't, But That Is -- And Should Be -- Your Goal. Anything Else Is Kind Of Piddling.