Maybe Other People's Ideas Of Us Are

Nothing Annoys Me More Than Having The Most Trivial Action Analyzed And Explained.

Without You, Dearest Dearest I Couldn't See Or Hear Or Feel Or Think - Or Live - I Love You So And I'm Never In All Our Lives Going To Let Us Be Apart Another Night.

I Am Really Only Myself When I'm Somebody Else Whom I Have Endowed With These Wonderful Qualities From My Imagination.

And Only Weaklings...who Lack Courage And The Power To Feel They're Right When The Whole World Says They're Wrong, Ever Lose.

It Seems To Me That On One Page I Recognized A Portion Of An Old Diary Of Mine Which Mysteriously Disappeared Shortly After My Marriage, And, Also, Scraps Of Letters Which, Though Considerably Edited, Sound To Me Vaguely Familiar. In Fact, Mr. Fitzgerald (i Believe That Is How He Spells His Name) Seems To Believe That Plagiarism Begins At Home.