People Change And Forget To Tell Each

Nothing You Write, If You Hope To Be Good, Will Ever Come Out As You First Hoped.

Old Paint On Canvas, As It Ages, Sometimes Becomes Transparent. When That Happens It Is Possible, In Some Pictures, To See The Original Lines: A Tree Will Show Through A Woman's Dress, A Child Makes Way For A Dog, A Large Boat Is No Longer On An Open Sea. That Is Called Pentimento Because The Painter 'repented', Changed His Mind. Perhaps It Would Be As Well To Say That The Old Conception, Replaced By A Later Choice, Is A Way Of Seeing And Then Seeing Again.

I Am Suspicious Of Guilt In Myself And In Other People; It Is Usually A Way Of Not Thinking, Or Of Announcing One's Own Fine Sensibilities The Better To Be Rid Of Them Fast.

Lonely. I Always Thought Loneliness Meant Alone, Without People. It Means Something Else.

Nobody Outside Of A Baby Carriage Or A Judge's Chamber Believes In An Unprejudiced Point Of View.