Dogs Are A Habit, I Think.

Pity The Selfishness Of Lovers: It Is Brief, A Forlorn Hope; It Is Impossible.

Plot Is The Knowing Of Destination.

Dress Has Never Been At All A Straightforward Business: So Much Subterranean Interest And Complex Feeling Attaches To It. As A Topic ... It Has A Flowery Head But Deep Roots In The Passion. On The Subject Of Dress Almost No One, For One Or Another Reason, Feels Truly Indifferent: If Their Own Clothes Do Not Concern Them, Somebody Else's Do. ... Ten Minutes Talk About Clothes (except Between Perfect Friends) Tends To Make Everyone Present Either Overbearing, Guarded Or Touchy.

Some Ideas, Like Dandelions In Lawns, Strike Tenaciously: You May Pull Off The Top But The Root Remains, Drives Down Suckers And May Even Sprout Again.

The Writer, Unlike His Non-writing Adult Friend, Has No Predisposed Outlook; He Seldom Observes Deliberately. He Sees What He Didnot Intend To See; He Remembers What Does Not Seem Wholly Possible. Inattentive Learner In The Schoolroom Of Life, He Keeps Some Faculty Free To Veer And Wander. His Is The Roving Eye.