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Let's begin by taking a smallish nap or two.
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Back in the days when American billboard advertising was in flower [said Hemingway], there were two slogans that I always rated above all others: the old Cremo Cigar ad that proclaimed, Spit Is a Horrid Word-but Worse on the end of Your Cigar, and Drink Schlitz in Brown Bottles and Avoid that Skunk Taste. You don't get creative writing like that any more.
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On occasions, after drinking a pint of beer at luncheon, there would be a flow into my mind with sudden and unaccountable emotion, sometimes a line or two of verse, sometimes a whole stanza, accompanied, not preceded by a vague notion of the poem which they were destined to form a part of.... I say bubble up because, so far as I could make out, the source of the suggestions thus proffered to the brain was the pit of the stomach.
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Plant trees. They give us two of the most crucial elements for our survival: oxygen and books.
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Nostalgia is a form of depression both for a society and an individual.
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Possessions of this world have not been for the exclusive use by such or such category of individuals.
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Either we heal now, as a team, or we will die as individuals.
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Quarrels often arise in marriages when the bridal gifts are excessive.
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From lightest words sometimes the direst quarrel springs.
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I won't quarrel with my bread and butter.
