I Left School At 16 And Skipped

Sunglasses Must Be Kept On Until An Acquaintance Is Identified At One Of The Tables, But One Must Not Appear To Be Looking For Company. Instead, The Impression Should Be That One Is Heading Into The Cafe To Make A Phone Call To One's Titled Italian Admirer, When--quelle Surprise!--one Sees A Friend. The Sunglasses Can Then Be Removed And The Hair Tossed While One Is Persuaded To Sit Down.

Next To The Defeated Politician, The Writer Is The Most Vocal And Inventive Griper On Earth. He Sees Hardship And Unfairness Wherever He Looks. His Agent Doesn’t Love Him (enough). The Blank Sheet Of Paper Is An Enemy. The Publisher Is A Cheapskate. The Critic Is A Philistine. The Public Doesn’t Understand Him. His Wife Doesn’t Understand Him. The Bartender Doesn’t Understand Him.

The Great Thing About Having Money Is That You Can Actually Just Get On With Your Life And Not Have To Think About Paying The Bills Or Crouch Over The Wall Street Journal Or The Financial Times And Look At The Stock Figures And Things Like That. That Bores Me Rigid.

The Day When A Frenchman Switches From The Formality Of Vous To The Familiarity Of Tu Is A Day To Be Taken Seriously. It Is An Unmistakable Signal That He Has Decided - After Weeks Or Months Or Sometimes Years - That He Likes You. It Would Be Chulish And Unfriendly Of You Not To Return The Compliment. And So, Just When You Are At Last Feeling Comfortable With Vous And All The Plurals That Go With It, You Are Thrust Headlong In To The Singular World Of Tu.

The English Kill Their Meat Twice: Once When They Slaughter It And Once When They Cook It.