Life, Friends, Is Boring. We Must Not

Two Daiquiris Withdrew Into A Corner Of A Gorgeous Room And One Told The Other A Lie.

Bats Have No Bankers And They Do Not Drink And Cannot Be Arrested And Pay No Tax And, In General, Bats Have It Made.

I Cry. Evil Dissolves, & Love, Like Foam; That Love. Prattle Of Children Powers Me Home, My Heart Claps Like The Swan's Under A Frenzy Of Who Love Me & Who Shine.

I Conclude Now I Have No Inner Resources, Because I Am Heavy Bored. Peoples Bore Me, Literature Bores Me, Especially Great Literature.

So If I Were Talking To A Young Writer, I Would Recommend The Cultivation Of Extreme Indifference To Both Praise And Blame Because Praise Will Lead You To Vanity, And Blame Will Lead You To Self-pity, And Both Are Bad For Writers.