The Young Were Always Theoretical; Only The

Books... Are Like Lobster Shells, We Surround Ourselves With 'em, Then We Grow Out Of 'em And Leave 'em Behind, As Evidence Of Our Earlier Stages Of Development.

In The World It Is Called Tolerance, But In Hell It Is Called Despair...the Sin That Believes In Nothing, Cares For Nothing, Seeks To Know Nothing, Interferes With Nothing, Enjoys Nothing, Hates Nothing, Finds Purpose In Nothing, Lives For Nothing, And Remains Alive Because There Is Nothing For Which It Will Die.

To Subdue One's Self To One's Own Ends Might Be Dangerous, But To Subdue One's Self To Other People's Ends Was Dust And Ashes. Yet There Were Those, Still More Unhappy, Who Envied Even The Ashy Saltness Of Those Dead Sea Apples.

Do You Know How To Pick A Lock?" "not In The Least, I'm Afraid." "i Often Wonder What We Go To School For," Said Wimsey.

If Anybody Ever Marries You, It Will Be For The Pleasure Of Hearing You Talk Piffle