Man, the creature who knows he must die, who has dreams larger than his destiny, who is forever working a confidence trick on himself, needs an ally. Mine has been tobacco.
When the silence and the aloneness press down and around me, crushing me, carving through me like ice, I need to speak aloud sometimes, if only for proof of life.
If I am to meet with a disappointment, the sooner I know it, the more of life I shall have to wear it off.
The art of life is the art of avoiding pain.