Beware Of Anger. It Is The Most

Infatuation Is One Of Those Slightly Comic Illnesses Which Are At Once So Undignified And So Painful That A Nice-minded World Does Its Best To Ignore Their Existence Altogether, Referring To Them Only Under Provocation And Then With Apology, But, Like Its More Material Brother, This Boil On The Neck Of The Spirit Can Hardly Be Forgotten Either By The Sufferer Or Anyone Else In His Vicinity. The Malady Is Ludicrous, Sad, Excruciating And, Above All, Instantly Diagnosable.

I Write Every Paragraph Four Times - Once To Get My Meaning Down, Once To Put In Anything I Have Left Out, Once To Take Out Anything That Seems Unnecessary, And Once To Make The Whole Thing Sound As If I Had Only Just Thought Of It.

There Are, Fortunately, Very Few People Who Can Say That They Have Actually Attended A Murder.

When One Kicks Over A Tea Table And Smashes Everything But The Sugar Bowl, One May As Well Pick That Up And Drop It On The Bricks, Don't You Think?

If One Cannot Command Attention By One's Admirable Qualities One Can At Least Be A Nuisance