Sex Is A Slotmachine.

We're Headed For Collapse, If You Want My Opinion, Missy. I Can See It In The Fallin' Off Of The Quality Of Vagrants. There Was Atime You Could Find Real Good Company In Almost Any Jungle You'd Pick, Men Who Could Talk, Men Who'd Read A Book Now And Then; And Now, What Do You Find, A Lot Of Dirty Little Guttersnipes No Decent Tramp Would Want To Associate With. Well, It's Been That Way All Through History.

When I Was A Kid I Used To Tell Myself The Moon Was A Silver Gong And If I Could Climb High Enough To Beat On It With Both Hands All My Wishes Would Come True.

The Mind Of A Generation Is Its Speech. A Writer Makes Aspects Of That Speech Enduring By Putting Them In Print. He Whittles At The Words And Phrases Of Today And Makes Of Them Forms To Set The Mind Of Tomorrow's Generation. That's History. A Writer Who Writes Straight Is The Architect Of History.

People Don't Choose Their Careers; They Are Engulfed By Them.

The Chilly December Day! Two Shivering Bicycle Mechanics From Dayton, Ohio First Felt Their Homemade Contraption Whittled Out Of Hickory Sticks, Gummed Together With Arnstein's Bicycle Cement, Stretched With Muslin They'd Sewn On Their Sister's Sewing Machine In Their Own Backyard On Hawthorn Street In Dayton, Ohio, Soar Into The Air Above The Dunes And The Wide Beach At Kitty Hawk.