Sarcasm Is The Protest Of The Weak.

All Of Them, All Except Phineas, Constructed At Infinite Cost To Themselves These Maginot Lines Against This Enemy They Thought They Saw Across The Frontier, This Enemy Who Never Attacked That Way-if He Ever Attacked At All; If He Was Indeed The Enemy.

It Was Hard To Remember In The Heavy And Sensual Clarity Of These Mornings; I Forgot Whom I Hated And Who Hated Me. I Wanted To Break Out Crying From Stabs Of Hopeless Joy, Or Intolerable Promise, Or Because These Mornings Were Too Full Of Beauty For Me, Because I Knew Of Too Much Hate To Be Contained In A World Like This.

This Was The Tree, And It Seemed To Me Standing There To Resemble Those Men, The Giants Of Your Childhood, Whom You Encounter Years Later And Find That They Are Not Merely Smaller In Relation To Your Growth, But They Are Absolutely Smaller, Shrunken By Age. In This Double Demotion The Old Giants Have Become Pygmies While You Were Looking The Other Way.

The Summer Of 1943 At Exeter Was As Happy A Time As I Ever Had In My Life.

There Are Simply More Young People Than There Ever Were. You Get This Feeling Of Strength. Also, Large Numbers Can Be A Drawback, Making It Difficult To Lose One's Anonymity.