When He Is Sick, Every Man Wants

Unless One Is Inordinately Fond Of Subordination, One Is Always At War.

What I Have In Mind When I Start To Write Could Fit Inside An Acorn-an Acorn, Moreover, That Rarely If Ever Grows Into An Oak. Write Fiction And You Relinquish Reason. You Start With An Acorn And You End Up With A Mackerel.

Old Age Isn't A Battle; Old Age Is A Massacre.

I Was A Biography In Constant Motion, Memory To The Marrow Of My Bones.

The Pleasure Isn't In Owning The Person. The Pleasure Is This. Having Another Contender In The Room With You.