The Writer's Job Is To Tell The

Anyone Who Says He Wants To Be A Writer And Isn't Writing, Doesn't.

He No Longer Dreamed Of Storms, Nor Of Women, Nor Of Great Occurrences, Nor Of Great Fish, Nor Fights, Nor Contests Of Strength, Nor Of His Wife. He Only Dreamed Of Places Now And The Lions On The Beach. They Played Like Young Cats In The Dusk And He Loved Them As He Loved The Boy. He Never Dreamed About The Boy. He Simply Woke, Looked Out The Open Door At The Moon And Unrolled His Trousers And Put Them On.

One Cat Just Leads To Another.

I Wish I Had Died Before I Ever Loved Anyone But Her.

Cheer Up,' I Said. 'all Countries Look Just Like The Moving Pictures.