I Know Myself," He Cried, "but That

I'll Drink Your Champagne. I'll Drink Every Drop Of It, I Don't Care If It Kills Me.

As We Passed Over The Dark Bridge Her Wan Face Fell Lazily Against My Coat's Shoulder And The Formidable Stroke Of Thirty Died Away With The Reassuring Pressure Of Her Hand.

Reporting The Extreme Things As If They Were The Average Things Will Start You On The Art Of Fiction.

My Generation Of Radicals And Breakers-down Never Found Anything To Take The Place Of The Old Virtues Of Work And Courage And The Old Graces Of Courtesy And Politeness.

When The Lightning Strikes One Of Us, It Strikes Both