[t]here Is No Greater Sign Of Innate

Books Do Furnish A Room.

When People Really Hate One Another, The Tension Within Them Can Sometimes Make Itself Felt Throughout A Room, Like Atmospheric Waves, First Hot, Then Cold, Wafted Backwards And Forwards As If In An Invisible Process Of Air Conditioning, Creating A Pervasive Physical Disturbance.

Self-pity Is Essentially Humorless, Devoid Of That Lightness Of Touch Which Gives Understanding Of Life.

On The Stage . . . Masks Are Assumed With Some Regard To Procedure; In Everyday Life, The Participants Act Their Parts Without Consideration Either For Suitability Of Scene Or For The Words Spoken By The Rest Of The Cast: The Result Is A General Tendency For Things To Be Brought To The Level Of Farce Even When The Theme Is Serious Enough.

One Passes Through The World Knowing Few, If Any, Of The Important Things About Even The People With Whom One Has Been From Time To Time In The Closest Intimacy.