When Shall We Live If

But If I Must Be Alone, I Refuse To Be Alone As If It Were Something Weak And Distasteful, Like Convalescence.

Write One Good Clean Sentence And Put A Period At The End Of It. Then Write Another One.

Or You Can Broil The Meat, Fry The Onions, Stew The Garlic In The Red Wine...and Ask Me To Supper. I'll Not Care, Really, Even If Your Nose Is A Little Shiny, So Long As You Are Self-possessed And Sure That Wolf Or No Wolf, Your Mind Is Your Own And Your Heart Is Another's And Therefore In The Right Place.

One Martini Is Just Right. Two Martinis Are Too Many. Three Martinis Are Never Enough.

It Seems To Me That Our Three Basic Needs, For Food And Security And Love, Are So Mixed And Mingled And Entwined That We Cannot Straightly Think Of One Without The Others. So It Happens That When I Write Of Hunger, I Am Really Writing About Love And The Hunger For It, And Warmth And The Love Of It And The Hunger For It… And Then The Warmth And Richness And Fine Reality Of Hunger Satisfied… And It Is All One.