Beware The Artist Who's An Intellectual Also.

I Don't Want To Repeat My Innocence. I Want The Pleasure Of Losing It Again.

The Cleverly Expressed Opposite Of Any Generally Accepted Idea Is Worth A Fortune To Somebody.

As We Passed Over The Dark Bridge Her Wan Face Fell Lazily Against My Coat's Shoulder And The Formidable Stroke Of Thirty Died Away With The Reassuring Pressure Of Her Hand.

She Was Incurably Dishonest.

He Hadn’t Once Ceased Looking At Daisy, And I Think He Revalued Everything In His House According To The Measure Of Response It Drew From Her Well-loved Eyes. Sometimes, Too, He Stared Around At His Possessions In A Dazed Way, As Though In Her Actual And Astounding Presence None Of It Was Any Longer Real.