When In Doubt, Have A Man Come

He Snorted And Hit Me In The Solar Plexus. I Bent Over And Took Hold Of The Room With Both Hands And Spun It. When I Had It Nicely Spinning I Gave It A Full Swing And Hit Myself On The Back Of The Head With The Floor.

I Guess God Made Boston On A Wet Sunday.

The Growth Of Populations Has In No Way Increased The Amount [of Art], It Has Merely Increased The Adeptness With Which Substitutes Can Be Produced And Packaged.

The Tragedy Of Life, Howard, Is Not That The Beautiful Die Young, But That They Grow Old And Mean. It Will Not Happen To Me.

It Is A Language Which Is Being Molded By Writers To Do Delicate Things And Yet Be In The Grasp Of Superficially Educated People.