No One Person In The World Is

Rosemary Bubbled With Delight At The Trunks. Her Naivete Responded Whole-heartedly To The Expensive Simplicity Of The Divers, Unaware Of Its Complexity And Its Lack Of Innocence, Unaware That It Was All A Selection Of Quality Rather Than Quantity From The Run Of The World's Bazaar; And That The Simplicity Of Behavior Also, The Nursery-like Peace And Good Will, The Emphasis On The Simpler Virtues, Was Part Of A Desperate Bargain With The Gods And Had Been Attained Through Struggles She Could Not Have Guessed At.

We Can't Possibly Have A Summer Love. So Many People Have Tried That The Name's Become Proverbial. Summer Is Only The Unfulfilled Promise Of Spring, A Charlatan In Place Of The Warm Balmy Nights I Dream Of In April. It's A Sad Season Of Life Without Growth...it Has No Day.

Laughter Is Easier Minute By Minute, Spilled With Prodigality, Tipped Out At A Cheerful Word.

It Was About Then [1920] That I Wrote A Line Which Certain People Will Not Let Me Forget: "she Was A Faded But Still Lovely Woman Of Twenty-seven."

I Was Rather Literary In College—one Year I Wrote A Series Of Very Solemn And Obvious Editorials For The 'yale News.'—and Now I Was Going To Bring Back All Such Things Into My Life And Become Again That Most Limited Of All Specialists, The 'well-rounded Man.' This Isn’t Just An Epigram—life Is Much More Successfully Looked At From A Single Window, After All.