And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks

It was the loneliest beer I ever had.

There’s time for all kinds of things,’” I said, “‘time even for murder.’

Women, Phillip, are the root of all evil.

“There’s something rotten about him,” she had said. “He has the smell of death about him.”

Caution is no virtue in the young.

“Look,” he said. “You’re a fish in a pond. It’s drying up. You have to mutate into an amphibian, but someone keeps hanging on to you and telling you to stay in the pond, everything’s going to be all right.”