She Bent Over Me Again.

She Hung Up And I Set Out The Chess Board. I Filled A Pipe, Paraded The Chessmen And Inspected Them For French Shaves And Loose Buttons, And Played A Championship Tournament Game Between Gortchakoff And Meninkin, Seventy-two Moves To A Draw, A Prize Specimen Of The Irresistible Force Meeting The Immovable Object, A Battle Without Armour, A War Without Blood, And As Elaborate A Waste Of Human Intelligence As You Could Find Anywhere Outside An Advertising Agency.

I'm An Occasional Drinker, The Kind Of Guy Who Goes Out For A Beer And Wakes Up In Singapore With A Full Beard.

The Flood Of Print Has Turned Reading Into A Process Of Gulping Rather Than Savoring.

The Girl Gave Him A Look Which Ought To Have Stuck At Least Four Inches Out Of His Back.

An Artist Cannot Deny Art, Nor Would He Want To. A Lover Cannot Deny Love.