You Ought To Dream. All Our Biggest

My Only Regret In Life Is That I Did Not Drink More Wine.

The Brown Blotches Of The Benevolent Skin Cancer The Sun Brings From Its Reflection On The Tropic Sea Were On His Cheeks. The Blotches Ran Well Down The Sides Of His Face And His Hands Had The Deep-creased Scars From Handling Heavy Fish On The Cords. But None Of These Scars Were Fresh. They Were As Old As Erosions In A Fishless Desert.

After Writing A Story I Was Always Empty And Both Sad And Happy, As Though I Had Made Love.

Oh, Now, Now, Now, The Only Now, And Above All Now, And There Is No Other Now But Thou Now And Now Is Thy Prophet.

It Was Considered A Virtue Not To Talk Unnecessarily At Sea.