Saturday Night and Sunday Morning

I'm me and nobody else; and whatever people think I am or say I am, that's what I'm not, because they don't know a bloody thing about me.

Then the muscles of her face relaxed and the glow of her soft features was framed and accentuated by an aureole of silence backed by the sound of the city.

Me, I couldn't care less if the world did blow up tomorrow, as long as I'm blown up with it.

you lived in a compatible world of pictures that passed through your mind like a magic-lantern, often in vivid and glorious loonycolour, a world where memory and imagination ran free and did acrobatic tricks with your past and with what might be your future, an amok that produced all sorts of agreeable visions. Like the corporal said about sitting on the lavatory: it was the only time you have to think, and to quote him further, you thought of some lovely and marvellous things.

actions without thought so that all through the day you filled your mind with vivid and more agreeable pictures than those round about.

Bliss and guilt joined forces in such a way that they caused no trouble but merely sunk his mind into a welcome nonchalance.

He felt electric light bulbs shining and burning into the back of his head, and sensed in the opening and closing flash of a second that his mind and body were entirely separate entities inconsiderately intent on going their different ways.

the motto of ‘be drunk and be happy’, kept your crafty arms around female waists, and felt the beer going beneficially down into the elastic capacity of your guts.

the motto of ‘be drunk and be happy’, kept your crafty arms around female waists, and felt the beer going beneficially down into the elastic capacity of your guts.

felt the beer going beneficially down into the elastic capacity of your guts