Like Some Wines Our Love Could Neither

Despair Is The Price One Pays For Setting Oneself An Impossible Aim. It Is, One Is Told, The Unforgivable Sin, But It Is A Sin The Corrupt Or Evil Man Never Practices. He Always Has Hope. He Never Reaches The Freezing-point Of Knowing Absolute Failure. Only The Man Of Goodwill Carries Always In His Heart This Capacity For Damnation.

I Couldn't Have Thought Of Her More. Even Vacancy Was Crowded With Her.

They Think My Mother's Ashes Are Marijuana.

We Forget Very Easily What Gives Us Pain.

The Economy Of A Novelist Is A Little Like That Of A Careful Housewife Who Is Unwilling To Throw Away Anything That Might Perhaps Serve Its Turn.