The Westerner1960

[Dave admires Burgundy's portrait of a nude woman]

Dave Blassingame:
That's a woman!

Burgundy Smith:
She is a woman all right, and that's just it. Her pleasant poetry turned shrill. She cried for marriage.

Dave Blassingame:
Well, what's the matter with that?

Burgundy Smith:
Ah, no. Oh, for the small span of an evening, maybe two, even a week, a woman's cool hand... she's delicious, the breath of life. A woman nameless is a respite from the hard travail of life. A woman new, sloe-eyed, silent, temporary. My raison-dete is my grail. It's my sweetest vessel. It's everything. But, Dave, a woman permanent, as a helpmate, as a life-long companion... oh, no, Dave, a woman as a wife - a downright catastrophe. Naw, I had too much of a good thing. Ah, me.