Prayers for the condemned man will be offered on an adding machine. Numbers constitute the only universal language.

But whether he was happy or not was hard to say. Probably he was neither, just as a plant is neither.

He smoked a cigarette, standing in the dark and listening to her undress. She made sea sounds; something flapped like a sail; there was the creak of ropes; then he heard the wave-against-a-wharf smack of rubber on flesh. Her call for him to hurry was a sea-moan, and when he lay beside her, she heaved, tidal, moon-driven.

No dream ever entirely disappears. Somewhere it troubles some unfortunate person and some day, when that person has been sufficiently troubled, it will be reproduced on the lot.

It's solitary drinking that makes drunkards.

He read it for the same reason an animal tears at a wounded foot: to hurt the pain.

Let him ride a horse. He's a cowboy ain't he?