The Americans, Of Course, Are Quite Dotty

Happiness Is The Only Thing I Understand.

You Can Behave As Badly As You Like In America. Nobody Notices.

Our Clothes Are Too Much A Part Of Us For Most Of Us Ever To Be Entirely Indifferent To Their Condition: It Is As Though The Fabric Were Indeed A Natural Extension Of The Body, Or Even Of The Soul.

Exhibitionists Have No Friends, No Friends At All.

The Consuming Desire Of Most Human Beings Is Deliberately To Plant Their Whole Life In The Hands Of Some Other Person. I Would Describe This Method Of Searching For Happiness As Immature. Development Of Character Consists Solely In Moving Toward Self-sufficiency.