The Novel Wins By Points, The Short

Come Sleep With Me: We Won't Make Love,love Will Make Us.

I Realized That Searching Was My Symbol, The Emblem Of Those Who Go Out At Night With Nothing In Mind, The Motives Of A Destroyer Of Compasses.

What Most People Call Loving Consists Of Picking Out A Woman And Marrying Her. They Pick Her Out, I Swear, I’ve Seen Them. As If You Could Pick In Love, As If It Were Not A Lightning Bolt That Splits Your Bones And Leaves You Staked Out In The Middle Of The Courtyard. They Probably Say That They Pick Her Out Because-they-love-her, I Think It’s Just The Siteoppo. Beatrice Wasn’t Picked Out, Juliet Wasn’t Picked Out. You Don’t Pick Out The Rain That Soaks You To A Skin When You Come Out Of A Concert.

The Novel Wins By Points, The Short Story By Knockout.

Salt And The Center Of The World Have To Be There, In That Spot On The Tablecloth.