I Am Fierce For Work. Without Work

I Can't Think Why I Was Cursed With This Inordinate Desire To Write, If The High Gods Weren't Going To Give Me Some More Adquate Means Of Expressing Myself Than That Which My Present Pedestrian Prose Affords.

We Are So Little, So Ignorant, So Feeble An Infant Race Crawling On A Planet Between Immensities We Haven't Even Begun To Understand, That Really We Have No Grounds For Either Congratulation Or Despair.

I Advise Nobody To Drown Sorrow In Cocoa. It Is Bad For The Figure And It Does Not Alleviate The Sorrow.

I Would, If I Could, Always Feed To Music. The Singularly Graceless Action Of Thus Filling One's Body With Roots And Dead Animals And Powdered Grain Is Given Some Significance Then. One Can Perform As A Ritual What One Is Shamed To Do As A Utilitarian Action.

If We Haven't A Grouch Against Fortune, We Seem Unable To Avoid One Against Ourselves.