As I Grow Older And Older, And

Lawyers Enjoy A Little Mystery, You Know. Why, If Everybody Came Forward And Told The Truth, The Whole Truth, And Nothing But The Truth Straight Out, We Should All Retire To The Workhouse.

Do You Solemnly Swear Never To Conceal A Vital Clue From The Reader? Do You Promise To Observe Seemly Moderation In The Use Of Gangs, Conspiracies, Super Criminals And Lunatics And Utterly And Forever To Forswear Mysterious Poisons Unknown To Science? Will You Honor The King's English? ... If You Fail To Keep Your Promise, May Other Writers Steal Your Plots And Your Pages Swarm With Misprints.

It's Disquieting To Reflect That One's Dreams Never Symbolize One's Real Wishes, But Always Something Much Worse... If I Really Wanted To Be Passionately Embraced By Peter, I Should Dream Of Dentists Or Gardening. I Wonder What Unspeakable Depths Of Awfulness Can Only Be Expressed By The Polite Symbol Of Peter's Embraces?

You Can Give It A Long Name If You Like, But I'm An Old-fashioned Woman And I Call It Mother-wit, And It's So Rare For A Man To Have It That If He Does You Write A Book About Him And Call Him Sherlock Holmes.

I Know What An Act To Make Things Simpler Means. It Means That The People Who Drew It Up Don't Understand It Themselves And That Every One Of Its Clauses Needs A Law-suit To Disentangle It.