Anyone Can Be A Fisherman In May.

As To Hemingway, I Read Him For The First Time In The Early 'forties, Something About Bells, Balls And Bulls, And Loathed It.

So This Was How You Died, In Whispers That You Did Not Hear.

A Man's Got To Take A Lot Of Punishment To Write A Really Funny Book.

Writing Is The Clumsy Attempt To Find Symbols For Wordlessness.

I Was A Little Drunk. Not Drunk In Any Positive Sense But Just Enough To Be Careless.