And she was mine, she was mine, the key was in my fist, my fist was in my pocket, she was mine.

I was weeping again, drunk on the impossible past.

There is nothing in the world that I loathe more than group activity, that communal bath where the hairy and slippery mix in a multiplication of mediocrity.

I am not, and never was, and never could have been, a brutal scoundrel.

There are aphorisms that, like airplanes, stay up only while they are in motion.

Adultery is a most conventional way to rise above the conventional.

I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze I cannot get out, said the starling