The sky lay over the city like a map showing the strata of things and the big full moon toppled over in a furrow like the abandoned wheel of a gun carriage on a sunset field of battle and the shadows walked like cats and I looked into the white and ghostly interior of things and thought of you and I looked on their structural outsides and thought of you and was lonesome.

I suppose all we can really share with people is a taste for the same kinds of weather.

Why should all life be work, when we all can borrow. Let's think only of today, and not worry about tomorrow.

We walked at night towards a cafe blooming with Japanese lanterns and I followed your white shoes gleaming like radium in the damp darkness. Rising off the water, lights flickered an invitation far enough away to be interpreted as we liked; to shimmer glamourously behind the silhouette of retrospective good times when we still believed in summer hotels and the philosophies of popular songs.

We get something to do and as soon as we've got it, it gets us.

And only weaklings...who lack courage and the power to feel they're right when the whole world says they're wrong, ever lose.

Pronunciation has made many an innocent word sound like a doctor's orders for a stomach pump.