There Is A City Myth That Country

Making The Best Of Things Is A Damn Poor Way Of Dealing With Them. My Life Has Been A Series Of Escapes From That Quicksand.

Houses Are The Abiding Joys; They Are The Most Emotion-stirring Of All Things. An Automobile Is Regarded With Fond Affection, A Typewriter Becomes The Inseparable Companion, Clothes Can Stir Sentimentality, And The Bit Of Bric-a-brac Is A Toy One Would Weep To See Torn Away - But Houses Are Real, Deep, Emotional Things. How Much Excitement In The Cutting Of A Window, What Enormous Importance In The Angle Of A Roof!

I Can Imagine Nothing More Wonderful Than Always Wanting To Keep A Man. It's This Not Wanting To Keep Them, And Yet Not Quite Being Able To Disentangle One's Self, Never Quite Having The Ruthlessness To Stike At The Hands On The Gunwale With An Oar Until They Let Go - That's The Horrible Thing.

Constant Repetition Dulls Receptivity.

As Novices, We Think We're Entirely Responsible For The Way People Treat Us. I Have Long Since Learned That We Are Responsible Only For The Way We Treat People.