Home Is Where The Heart Is, Home

The Only Place Where You Could See Life And Death, I. E., Violent Death Now That The Wars Were Over, Was In The Bull Ring And I Wanted Very Much To Go To Spain Where I Could Study It. I Was Trying To Learn To Write, Commencing With The Simplest Things, And One Of The Simplest Things Of All And The Most Fundamental Is Violent Death.

It Is By Riding A Bicycle That You Learn The Contours Of A Country Best, Since You Have To Sweat Up The Hills And Coast Down Them. Thus You Remember Them As They Actually Are, While In A Motor Car Only A High Hill Impresses You, And You Have No Such Accurate Remembrance Of The Country You Have Driven Through As You Gain By Riding A Bicycle.

Home Is Where The Heart Is, Home Is Where The Fart Is. Come Let Us Fart In The Home. There Is No Art In A Fart. Still A Fart May Not Be Artless. Let Us Fart And Artless Fart In The Home.

Time Is The Least Thing We Have.

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