Every Decision You Make Is A Mistake.

We Are Uneasy With An Affectionate Man, For We Are Positive He Wants Something Of Us, Particularly Our Love.

Hardly A Book Of Human Worth, Be It Heaven's Own Secret, Is Honestly Placed Before The Reader; It Is Either Shunned, Given A Periclean Funeral Oration In A Hundred And Fifty Words, Or Interred In The Potter's Field Of The Newspapers Back Pages.

One Of The Weaknesses In The Cooperative Is That It Has Never Been Sufficiently Leavened By The Imagination. This Is A Quick-silver Faculty, And Likely To Be A Cause Of Worry To Any Collective Settlement.

What Is Most Appalling In An F. Scott Fitzgerald Book Is That It Is Peopleless Fiction: Fitzgerald Writes About Spectral, Muscledsuits; Dresses, Hats, And Sleeves Which Have Some Sort Of Vague, Libidinous Throb. These Are Plainly The Product Of Sickness.

The Earnings Of A Poet Could Be Reckoned By A Metaphysician Rather Than A Bookkeeper.