Love's A Disease. But Curable.

The Last Sin, The Sin Against The Holy Ghost - To Lie To Oneself. Lying To Other People - That's A Small Thing In Comparison.

One Could Do With A Longer Year - So Much To Do, So Little Done, Alas.

Nearly All Novels Are Too Long.

Life Is One Long Struggle To Disinter Oneself, To Keep One's Head Above The Accumulations, The Ever Deepening Layers Of Objects ... Which Attempt To Cover One Over, Steadily, Almost Irresistibly, Like Falling Snow.

Words Move, Turning Over Like Tumbling Clowns; Like Certain Books And Like Fleas, They Possess Activity. All Men Equally Have The Right To Say, 'this Word Shall Bear This Meaning,' And See If They Can Get It Across. It Is A Sporting Game, Which All Can Play, Only All Cannot Win.