All Autobiography Is Self-indulgent.

I Wish I Was A Woman Of About Thirty-six Dressed In Black Satin With A String Of Pearls.

It Wouldn't Make For Sanity Would It, Living With The Devil.

Boredom Is A Pleasing Antidote For Fear

I Wondered How Many People There Were In The World Who Suffered, And Continued To Suffer, Because They Could Not Break Out From Their Own Web Of Shyness And Reserve, And In Their Blindness And Folly Built Up A Great Distorted Wall In Front Of Them That Hid The Truth.

I Felt Rather Exhausted, And Wondered, Rather Shocked At My Callous Thought, Why Old People Were Sometimes Such A Strain. Worse Than Young Children Or Puppies Because One Had To Be Polite.