A writer without a sense of justice or injustice would be better off editing the yearbook for a school for exceptional children.

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.

This was the price you paid for sleeping together. This was the end of the trap. This was what people got for loving each other.

Wars are caused by undefended wealth.

The educated man is the man who can do something. The quality of his work marks the degree of his education.

This beer is good for you. This is draft beer. Stick with the beer. Let's go and beat this guy up and come back and drink some more beer.

It was a pleasant cafe, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung up my old water-proof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a cafe au lait. The waiter brought it and I took out a notebook from the pocket of the coat and a pencil and started to write.