... I Think We Grieve Forever, But

. . . Word-sniffing . . . Is An Addiction, Like Glue -- Or Snow -- Sniffing In A Somewhat Less Destructive Way, Physically If Not Economically. . . . As An Addict, I Am Almost Guiltily Interested In Converts To My Own Illness . . .

Death ... So Seldom Happens Nowadays In The Awesome Quiet Of A Familiar Chamber. Most Of Us Die Violently, Thanks To The Advance Of Science And Warfare. If By Chance We Are Meant To End Life In Our Beds, We Are Whisked Like Pox Victims To The Nearest Hospital, Where We Are Kept As Alone And Unaware As Possible Of The Approach Of Disintegration.

I Honestly Believe That Everything I Know About The Writing Of Non-fiction (or Writing) Could Be Engraved On The Head Of A Pin With A Garden Hoe.

A Well-made Martini Or Gibson, Correctly Chilled And Nicely Served, Has Been More Often My True Friend Than Any Two-legged Creature.

Cooks Must Feed Their Egos As Well As Their Customers.