Death Is No Different Whined At Than

It's Easy To Write When You've Nothing To Write About (that Is, When You Are Young).

I Work All Day, And Get Half-drunk At Night.

I Am Beginning To Think Of The Human Imagination As A Fruit Machine On Which Victories Are Rare And Separated By Much Vain Expense, And Represent A Rare Alignment Of Mental And Spiritual Qualities That Normally Are Quite At Odds.

The Breath That Sharpens Life Is Life Itself.

Deprivation Is For Me What Daffodils Were For Wordsworth.