“We all get the same amount of ice. The rich get it in the summer. The poor get it in the winter.”

There are those who argue that everything breaks even in this old dump of a world of ours.

I suppose these ginks who argue that way hold that because the rich man gets ice in the summer and the poor man gets it in the winter things are breaking even for both. Maybe so, but I’ll swear I can’t see it that way.

Shoot first and never miss.

Every dog, we are told, has his day, unless there are more dogs than days.

If you want to hit a man in the chest, aim for his groin.

Never run a bluff with a six-gun.

There are many in this old world of ours who hold that things break about even for all of us. I have observed, for example, that we all get the same amount of ice. The rich get it in the summertime and the poor get it in the winter.

The summer following the winter that my mother took off into something called Women’s Land for what I could only guess would be all eternity.

My father decided that there was no choice but for him to quit his despised job and take me and my brother to the beach for at least the entire summer and possibly longer.

Buy straw hats in the wintertime. Summer will surely come.

Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.

He was in love with life as an ant on a summer blade of grass.

There are those who argue that everything breaks even in this old dump of a world of ours.

I work a lot in the summers. My family goes to Maine, where we have a little house. My wife’s a writer, too, and we can write for six hours a day and then play with the kids.

In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures, life may perfect be.