Now to me, Edith looks like something that would eat her young.
Drink and dance and laugh and lie, Love, the reeling midnight through, For tomorrow we shall die! (But, alas, we never do.)
I'm not a writer with a drinking problem, I'm a drinker with a writing problem.
all men are the same age.
Yet, as only New Yorkers know, if you can get through the twilight, you'll live through the night.
Civilization is coming to an end, you understand.