I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. They’re pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings.

The kid poured him another straight rye and I think he doctored it with water down behind the bar because when he came up with it he looked as guilty as if he'd kicked his grandmother.

I had a funny feeling as I saw the house disappear, as though I had written a poem and it was very good and I had lost it and would never remember it again.

She poured us some more Scotch. It didn't seem to affect her any more than water affects Boulder Dam.

Guns never settle anything, I said. They are just a fast curtain to a bad second act

There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.