If A Writer Stops Observing, He Is

He Would Lie In The Bed And Finally, With Daylight, He Would Go To Sleep. After All, He Said To Himself, It Is Probably Only Insomnia. Many Must Have It.

To Me Heaven Would Be A Big Bull Ring With Me Holding Two Barrera Seats And A Trout Stream Outside That No One Else Was Allowed To Fish In And Two Lovely Houses In The Town; One Where I Would Have My Wife And Children And Be Monogamous And Love Them Truly And Well And The Other Where I Would Have My Nine Beautiful Mistresses On Nine Different Floors.

Everything That's Innocent To Us Is Crazy To Them.

There Were Many Words That You Could Not Stand To Hear And Finally Only The Names Of Places Had Dignity. Abstract Words Such As Glory, Honor, Courage, Or Hallow Were Obscene.

I Am One Of Those Who Like To Stay Late At The Cafe," The Older Waiter Said. "with All Those Who Do Not Want To Go To Bed. With All Those Who Need A Light For The Night." "i Want To Go Home And Into Bed." "we Are Of Two Different Kinds," The Older Waiter Said. He Was Now Dressed To Go Home. "it Is Not Only A Question Of Youth And Confidence Although Those Things Are Very Beautiful. Each Night. I Am Reluctant To Close Up Because There May Be Someone Who Needs The Cafe.