Well, It's A Good Life And A

The Long-distance Run Of An Early Morning Makes Me Think That Every Run Like This Is A Life- A Little Life, I Know- But A Life As Full Of Misery And Happiness And Things Happening As You Can Ever Get Really Around Yourself

Everybody Thinks Theyll Never Get Married At Your Age. You Think You Can Go On All Your Life Being Single, But You Suddenly Find Out That You Cant.

I'm Me And Nobody Else; And Whatever People Think I Am Or Say I Am, That's What I'm Not, Because They Don't Know A Bloody Thing About Me.

For It Was Saturday Night, The Best And Bingiest Glad-time Of The Week, One Of The Fifty-two Holidays In The Slow-turning Big Wheel Of The Year, A Violent Preamble To A Prostrate Sabbath. Piled Up Passions Were Exploded On Saturday Night, And The Effect Of A Week's Monotonous Graft In The Factory Was Swilled Out Of Your System In A Burst Of Goodwill. You Followed The Motto Of 'be Drunk And Be Happy,' Kept Your Crafty Arms Around Female Waists, And Felt The Beer Going Beneficially Down Into The Elastic Capacity Of Your Guts.

I Realized It Might Be Possible To Do Such A Thing, Run For Money, Trot For Wages On Piece Work At A Bob A Puff Rising Bit By Bit To A Guinea A Gasp And Retiring Through Old Age At Thirty-two Because Of Lace-curtain Lungs, A Football Heart, And Legs Like Varicose Beanstalks.