We Are Always Children To Our Mothers.

It Is In Our Minds That We Live Much Of Our Life.

We None Of Us Talk To People As We Do Behind Their Backs.

Real Life Seems To Have No Plots.

My Youth Is Escaping Without Giving Me Anything It Owes Me.

Most Of The Pleasure Of Making A Book Would Go If It Held Nothing To Be Shared By Other People. I Would Write For A Few Dozen People, And Sometimes It Seems That I Do So, But I Would Not Write For No-one.