Being A Child Is In Itself A

Experience Teaches You That The Man Who Looks You Straight In The Eye, Particularly If He Adds A Firm Handshake, Is Hiding Something.

A Good Memory Is One Trained To Forget The Trivial.

Being A Child Is In Itself A Profession.

To Divide One's Life By Years Is Of Course To Tumble Into A Trap Set By Our Own Arithmetic. The Calendar Consents To Carry On Its Dull Wall-existence By The Arbitrary Timetables We Have Drawn Up In Consultation With Those Permanent Commuters, Earth And Sun. But We, Unlike Trees, Need Grow No Annual Rings.

Mr. Faulkner, Of Course, Is Interested In Making Your Mind Rather Than Your Flesh Creep.