The Dubious Privilege Of A Freelance Writer

He Bit His Lip In A Manner Which Immediately Awakened My Maternal Sympathy, And I Helped Him Bite It.

A Basic Ingredient In The Manufacture Of Perfume, The Attar-a Heavy, Pale-yellow Oil Stored In Small Metal Drums-had Been Put Up As Collateral By Bulgaria, In Lieu Of Gold, At The Moscow Narodny Bank, A Communist Finance House For East-west Trade.

I Guess I'm Just An Old Mad Scientist At Bottom. Give Me An Underground Laboratory, Half A Dozen Atom-smashers, And A Beautiful Girl In A Diaphanous Veil Waiting To Be Turned Into A Chimpanzee, And I Care Not Who Writes The Nation's Laws.

All Right, So Call Me Miss Cliche Of 1960, But The Thing About The Married Ones That Always Spooks Me Is How Sweet And Attentive They Are At First, When They're On The Prowl.

There Is Something About A Home Aquarium Which Sets My Teeth On Edge The Moment I See It. Why Anyone Would Want To Live With A Small Container Of Stagnant Water Populated By A Half-dead Guppy Is Beyond Me.