It seemed the world was divided into good and bad people. The good ones slept better, [Cloquet thought,] while the bad ones seemed to enjoy the waking hours much more.
The other shoppers were too well behaved to stare at the green-headed stoner and the tear-streaked lady zigzagging up the aisles with a chubby bearded guy scurrying behind them picking up the things they dropped.
True, science has conquered many diseases, broken the genetic code, and even placed human beings on the moon, and yet when a man of eighty is left in a room with two eighteen-year-old cocktail waitresses nothing happens.
In order to be a writer, "Maugham continues: "one must take chances and not be afraid to look foolish. I wrote The Razor's Edge while wearing a paper hat….
He's dreaming, Cloquet thought, as he stood over him, revolver in hand. He's dreaming, and I exist in reality. Cloquet hated reality but realized it was still the only place to get a good steak.
