April, The Angel Of The Months, The

However Many Resolutions One Makes, One's Pen, Like Water, Always Finds Its Own Level, And One Can't Write In Any Way Other Than One's Own.

I Have Come To The Conclusion, After Many Years Of Sometimes Sad Experience, That You Cannot Come To Any Conclusion At All.

Ambition, Old As Mankind, The Immemorial Weakness Of The Strong.

I Do Not Like January Very Much. It Is Too Stationary. Not Enough Happens. I Like The Evidences Of Life, And In January There Are Too Few Of Them.

It Isn't That I Don't Like Sweet Disorder, But It Has To Be Judiciously Arranged.