Europeans Are Quarrelsome.

In Manhattan, Every Flat Surface Is A Potential Stage And Every Inattentive Waiter An Unemployed, Possibly Unemployable, Actor.

Vienna Is Cold, And Dark, And Sad. It Is Laid Out As Though For A Royal Parade; The Streets Are Wide And They're Flanked By Monumental Buildings, Decorated With The Faces Of Angry Gods. And On The Roof Are Statues Of National Heroes, Wielding Weapons Of Destruction.

However Low A Man Sinks He Never Reaches The Level Of The Police.

I'm Too Old To Make Drawings.

Manners Are Love In A Cool Climate.