One Forgets So Quickly One's Own Youth.

Hatred Seems To Work On The Same Glands As Love: It Even Produces The Same Actions. If We Had Not Been Taught How To Interpret The Story Of The Passion, Would We Have Been Able To Say From Their Actions Alone Whether It Was The Jealous Judas Or The Cowardly Peter Who Loved Christ?

They Haven't Left Us Much To Believe, Have They? — Even Disbelief. I Can't Believe In Anything Bigger Than A Home, Or Anything Vaguer Than A Human Being.

Communism, My Friend, Is More Than Marxism, Just As Catholicism Is More Than The Roman Curia. There Is A Mystique As Well As A Politick. Catholics And Communists Have Committed Great Crimes, But At Least They Have Not Stood Aside, Like An Established Society, And Been Indifferent. I Would Rather Have Blood On My Hands Than Water Like Pilate.

I Want Men To Admire Me, But That's A Trick You Learn At School--a Movement Of The Eyes, A Tone Of Voice, A Touch Of The Hand On The Shoulder Or The Head. If They Think You Admire Them, They Will Admire You Because Of Your Good Taste, And When They Admire You, You Have An Illusion For A Moment That There's Something To Admire.

One Has No Talent. I Have No Talent. It's Just A Question Of Working, Of Being Willing To Put In The Time.