William Saroyan (1981)
I obsessed on W.S.’s use of man when I first read this. Was he wielding it—the word man—earthily (as in eyes half-lidded, Birkenstocks on his feet and pen held between fingers like a joint) or in a British (I blame the English walnut tree reference for this next musing) pip-pip manner (as in he’s wearing one of those Brigadier General ribbed sweaters with patches on the shoulders and sleeves and there’s a giant, slightly burnt banger on his fork that he’s waving in your face)? No, no. Neither. I know it. You know it. Saroyan. Man. Saroyan. What ho! He’s right. He also advised writers:
Try to learn to breathe deeply; really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell.
Ha ha! Merci, W.S. Sleep well.