This is a good place," he said. "There's a lot of liquor," I agreed.

I still need more healthy rest in order to work at my best. My health is the main capital I have and I want to administer it intelligently.

Rush, that most exciting perversion of life, the necessity of accomplishing something in less time than should be truly allowed for its doing.

The brave dies perhaps two thousand deaths if he's intelligent. He simply doesn't mention them.

The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The blotches ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.

Everyone my age had written a novel and I was still having difficulty writing a paragraph.

Later he had seen the things that he could never think of and later still he had seen much worse.