I Ask Myself, 'why Am I So

Even The Street, The Sunshine, The Very Air Had A Special Sunday Quality. We Walked Differently On Sundays, With Greater Propriety And Stateliness. Greetings Were More Formal, More Subdued, Voices More Meticulously Polite. Everything Was So Smooth, Bland, Polished. And Genuinely So, Because This Was Sunday. In Church The Rustling And The Stillness Were Alike Pervaded With The Knowledge That All Was For The Best. Propriety Ruled The Universe. God Was In His Heaven, And We Were In Our Sunday Clothes.

The Real Protection Of Life And Property, Always And Everywhere.

The First Twenty Years Of My Life Were Wasted. I Didn't Fit My Environment, And I Didn't Know Any Other.

I Can Imagine Nothing More Wonderful Than Always Wanting To Keep A Man. It's This Not Wanting To Keep Them, And Yet Not Quite Being Able To Disentangle One's Self, Never Quite Having The Ruthlessness To Stike At The Hands On The Gunwale With An Oar Until They Let Go - That's The Horrible Thing.

An Old World Revolution Is Only A Movement Around A Motionless Center; It Never Breaks Out Of The Circle. Firm In The Center Is Belief In Authority.