Humility is not disgraceful, and carries no loss of true pride.

Everyone behaves badly--given the chance.

Any man who eats dessert is not drinking enough.

It was like certain dinners I remember from the war. There was much wine, an ignored tension, and a feeling of things coming that you could not prevent happening. Under the wine I lost the disgusted feeling and was happy. It seemed they were all such nice people.

Up the road, in his shack, the old man was sleeping again. He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by him watching him. The old man was dreaming about the lions.

As to Hemingway, I read him for the first time in the early 'forties, something about bells, balls and bulls, and loathed it.

His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred.