Self-love Is An Idolatry. Self-hatred Is A

Harvard (across The River In Cambridge) And Boston Are Two Ends Of One Mustache. ... Without The Faculty, The Visitors, The Events That Harvard Brings To The Life Here, Boston Would Be Intolerable To Anyone Except Genealogists, Antique Dealers, And Those Who Find Repletion In A Closed Local Society.

It Is June. This Is What I Have Decided To Do With My Life Just Now. I Will Do This Work And Lead This Life, The One I Am Leading Today. Each Morning The Blue Clock And The Crocheted Bedspread, The Table With The Phone, The Books And Magazines, The Times At The Door.

Art Is A Profession, Not A Shrine.

The Language Of The Younger Generation Has The Brutality Of The City And An Assertion Of Threatening Power At Hand, Not To Come. It Is Military, Theatrical, And At Its Most Coherent Probably A Lasting Repudiation Of Empty Courtesy And Bureaucratic Euphemism.

Houses Of Evil Similarity Appeared Like Rows Of Disciplined, Humiliated Orphans.