You Don't Realize What Fine Fighting Material

And If You Cast Down An Idol, There's Nothing Left.

There's No Agony Like [getting Started]. You Sit In A Room, Biting Pencils, Looking At A Typewriter, Walking About, Or Casting Yourself Down On A Sofa, Feeling You Want To Cry Your Head Off.

Jealousy, You Know, Is Usually Not An Affair Of Causes. It Is Much More-how Shall I Say?-fundamental Than That. Based On The Knowledge That One's Love Is Not Returned. And So One Goes On Waiting, Watching, Expecting...that The Loved One Will Turn To Someone Else.

Unless You Are Good At Guessing, It Is Not Much Use Being A Detective.

I Think, Myself, That One's Memories Represent Those Moments Which, Insignificant As They May Seem, Nevertheless Represent The Inner Self And Oneself As Most Really Oneself.