A Hobby A Day Keeps The Doldrums

Praise Is Warming And Desirable. But It Is An Earned Thing. It Has To Be Deserved, Like A Hug From A Child.

The Enemy, Who Wears Her Mother's Usual Face And Confidential Tone, Has Access; Doubtless Stares Into Her Writing Case And Listens On The Phone.

History Must Always Be Taken With A Grain Of Salt. It Is, After All, Not A Science But An Art.

Oh, Princes Thrive On Caviar, The Poor On Whey And Curds, / And Politicians, I Infer, Must Eat Their Windy Words. / It's Crusts That Feed The Virtuous, It's Cake That Comforts Sinners, / But Writers Live On Bread And Praise At Literary Dinners.

Happiness Puts On As Many Shapes As Discontent, And There Is Nothing Odder Than The Satisfaction Of One's Neighbor.