As it is she will probably turn out to be one of these acid-faced virgins that sit behind little desks in public libraries and stamp dates in books.

So by all means let's have a television show quick and long, even if the commercial has to be delivered by a man in a white coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck, selling ergot pills. After all the public is entitled to what it wants, isn't it? The Romans knew that and even they lasted four hundred years after they started to putrefy.

A nice state of affairs when a man has to indulge his vices by proxy.

The publishers and others should quit worrying about losing customers to TV. The guy who can sit through a trio of deodorant commercials to look at Flashgun Casey or swallow a flock of beer and loan-shark spiels in order to watch a couple of fourth-rate club fighters rub noses on the ropes is not losing any time from book reading.

Down these mean streets a man must go who is neither tarnished nor afraid

She was kind of girl who'd eat all your cashews and leave you with nothing but peanuts and filberts.

The actual writing is what you live for. The rest is something you have to get through in order to arrive at the point.