For the night was not impartial. No, the night loved some more than others, served some more than others.
I heard them shouting through the muffling canvas of the bag, and then I was being impersonally hauled to my feet by my wrists, my arms wrenched up behind my back, my shoulders screaming.
It was enough to make a body ashamed of the human race.
If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is "thank you," that would suffice.
You cannot run away from a weakness; you must sometimes fight it out or perish. And if that be so, why not now, and where you stand?
The brain is a wonderful organ. It starts working the moment you get up in the morning and does not stop until you get into the office.
Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.