The Coffee Shop Smell Was Strong Enough

As Honest As You Could Expect A Man To Be In A World Where It's Out Of Style.

I Belonged In Idle Valley Like A Pearl Onion On A Banana Split.

All Art At Some Time And In Some Manner Becomes Mass Entertainment, And If It Does Not It Dies And Is Forgotten.

It Was A Smooth Silvery Voice That Matched Her Hair. It Had A Tiny Tinkle In It, Like Bells In A Doll's House. I Thought That Was Silly As Soon As I Thought Of It.

When A Book, Any Sort Of Book, Reaches A Certain Intensity Of Artistic Performance It Becomes Literature.