Love, you poison my typewriter. How can I write with every key screaming? Since you've left, I've had hangovers they could name battleships after.
Everything that's innocent to us is crazy to them.
Red swine. Mother rapers. Eaters of the milk of thy fathers.
South America hell! If you went there the way you feel now it would be exactly the same. This is a good town.
Nicholas Adams drove on through the town along the empty, brick-paved street ... on under the heavy trees of the small town that are a part of your heart if it is your town and you have walked under them, but that are only too heavy, that shut out the sun and that dampen the houses for a stranger.
Somebody just back of you while you are fishing is as bad as someone looking over your shoulder while you write a letter to your girl.