Money cannot buy health, but I'd settle for a diamond-studded wheelchair.

I like best to have one book in my hand, and a stack of others on the floor beside me, so as to know the supply of poppy and mandragora will not run out before the small hours.

Pictures pass me in long review,-- Marching columns of dead events. I was tender, and, often, true; Ever a prey to coincidence. Always knew I the consequence; Always saw what the end would be. We're as Nature has made us -- hence I loved them until they loved me.

Then if my friendships break and bend, There's little need to cry The while I know that every foe Is faithful till I die.

Los Angeles: Seventy-two suburbs in search of a city.

This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.

Where unwilling dies the rose; buds the new another year.