It's A Letdown If The

Jake Was Close To Tears. In That Moment He Saw The World In Its True Light, As A Place Where Nothing Had Ever Been Any Good And Nothing Of Significance Done: No Art Worth A Second Look, No Philosophy Of The Slightest Appositeness, No Law But Served The State, No History That Gave An Inkling Of How It Had Been And What Had Happened. And No Love, Only Egotism, Infatuation And Lust.

Work Was Like Cats Were Supposed To Be: If You Disliked And Feared It And Tried To Keep Out If Its Way, It Knew At Once And Sought You Out And Jumped On Your Lap And Climbed All Over You To Show How Much It Loved You. Please God, He Thought, Don't Let Me Die In Harness.

Whatever Part Drink May Play In The Writer's Life, It Must Play None In His Or Her Work.

Hangover Cure: Rigorous Sex, Hydration, Hot Bath, Then "go Up For Half An Hour In An Open Aeroplane. (needless To Say, With A Non-hungover Person At The Controls)."

I'll Pour You The First One And After That, If You Don't Have One, It's Your Own F****** Fault. You Know Where It Is.