Jim lights a cigarette and leans indolently back on his elbow smiling at Laura with a warmth and charm which lights her inwardly with altar candles.

I talk out the lines as I write them.

Snatching the eternal out of the desperately fleeting is the great magic trick of human existence.

For time is the longest distance between two places.

Kill off all my demons and my angels might die too.

Go, then! Go to the moon-you selfish dreamer!

Time rushes towards us with its hospital tray of infinitely varied narcotics, even while it is preparing us for its inevitably fatal operation.