The Artist Secretes Nostalgia Around Life.

We Love But Once, For Once Only Are We Perfectly Equipped For Loving.

Dining Out Is A Vice, A Dissipation Of Spirit Punished By Remorse. We Eat, Drink, And Talk A Little Too Much, Abuse All Our Friends, Belch Out Our Literary Preferences And Are Egged On By Accomplices In The Audience To Acts Of Mental Exhibitionism. Such Evenings Cannot Fail To Diminish Those Who Take Part In Them. They End On Monkey Hill.

Everything Is A Dangerous Drug Except Reality Which Is Unendurable.

Promise Is The Capacity For Letting People Down.

The Civilized Are Those Who Get More Out Of Life Than The Uncivilized, And For This We Are Not Likely To Be Forgiven.