The Feeling Of Sunday Is The Same

She Could Give Herself Up To The Written Word As Naturally As A Good Dancer To Music Or A Fine Swimmer To Water. The Only Difficulty Was That After Finishing The Last Sentence She Was Left With A Feeling At Once Hollow And Uncomfortably Full. Exactly Like Indigestion.

Everything Tender And Melancholy - As Life Is Sometimes, Just For One Moment.

Next Week, Or Next Month, Or Next Year I Will Kill Myself. But I Might As Well Last Out My Month's Rent, Which Has Been Paid Up.

After All This, What Happened? What Happened Was That, As Soon As I Had The Slightest Chance Of A Place To Hide In, I Crept Into It And Hid. Well, Sometimes It's A Fine Day Isn't It? Sometimes The Skies Are Blue. Sometimes The Air Is Light, Easy To Breathe. And There Is Always Tomorrow.

Would You Like A Whiskey?' I Say. 'i've Got Some.' (that's Original. I Bet Nobody's Ever Thought Of That Way Of Bridging The Gap Before.)