She Believed In Nothing; Only Her Skepticism

I Am Neither Virgin Nor Priest Enough To Play With The Inner Life.

Hell Is Other People At Breakfast.

Everything In My Past, In My Training, Everything That Has Been Most Essential In My Activity Up To Now Has Made Me Above All A Man Who Writes, And It Is Too Late For That To Change.

I'd Come To Realize That All Our Troubles Spring From Our Failure To Use Plain, Clear-cut Language.

My Eyes Feel All Soft, All Soft As Flesh. I'm Going To Sleep.