Some Things, You Know, If You Say

Everyone Just Keeps On Disappearing. Some Things Vanish, Like They Were Cut Away. Others Fade Slowly Into The Mist. And All That Remains Is A Desert.

I Closed My Own Jazz Bar So I Could Be A Man Who Can Write Novels As I Like. I Was Pleased About That. This Pleasure Was Connected To The Pleasure Of Writing.

I Don't Know How Many Good Books I Still Have In Me; I Hope There Are Another Four Or Five.

I'm Always Tripped Up By The Eternal Who Am I?

The Faintest Gleam Of Their Lost Memories Glimmered For The Briefest Moment In Their Hearts.