As Long As Nothing Happens Anything Is

Sometimes I See Myself Reflected Too Closely In Other Men For Comfort, And Then I Have An Enormous Wish To Believe In The Saints, In Heroic Virtue.

They Haven't Left Us Much To Believe, Have They? — Even Disbelief. I Can't Believe In Anything Bigger Than A Home, Or Anything Vaguer Than A Human Being.

He Was Impregnably Armored By His Good Intentions And His Ignorance.

So Much In Writing Depends On The Superficiality Of One's Days.

In Switzerland They Had Brotherly Love, Five Hundred Years Of Democracy And Peace, And What Did They Produce? The Cuckoo Clock!