He Was Violating The Second Rule Of

Having Books Published Is Very Destructive To Writing. It Is Even Worse Than Making Love Too Much. Because When You Make Love Too Much At Least You Get A Damned Clarte That Is Like No Other Light. A Very Clear And Hollow Light.

Auto Racing, Bull Fighting, And Mountain Climbing Are The Only Real Sports... All The Others Are Games.

Love Is Something That Hangs Up Behind The Bathroom Door And Smells Of Lysol.

Perhaps I Should Not Have Been A Fisherman, He Thought. But That Was The Thing That I Was Born For.

You're Awfully Dark, Brother," He Said. "you Don't Know How Dark.