Americans, while occasionally willing to be serfs, have always been obstinate about being peasantry.

I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go

What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours?

How different it all was from what you'd planned.

I've been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.

They were still in the happier stages of love. They were full of brave illusions about each other, tremendous illusions, so that the communion of self with self seemed to be on a plane where no other human relations mattered.

It's a mining town in lotus land.