Constant Repetition Dulls Receptivity.

Making The Best Of Things Is A Damn Poor Way Of Dealing With Them. My Life Has Been A Series Of Escapes From That Quicksand.

As Novices, We Think We're Entirely Responsible For The Way People Treat Us. I Have Long Since Learned That We Are Responsible Only For The Way We Treat People.

Houses Are The Abiding Joys; They Are The Most Emotion-stirring Of All Things. An Automobile Is Regarded With Fond Affection, A Typewriter Becomes The Inseparable Companion, Clothes Can Stir Sentimentality, And The Bit Of Bric-a-brac Is A Toy One Would Weep To See Torn Away - But Houses Are Real, Deep, Emotional Things. How Much Excitement In The Cutting Of A Window, What Enormous Importance In The Angle Of A Roof!

Two Deep Human Desires Were At War ... The Longing For Stability, For Form, For Permanence, Which In Its Essence Is The Desire For Death, And The Opposing Hunger For Movement, Change, Instability And Risk, Which Are Life. Men Came From The East And Built These American Towns Because They Wished To Go No Farther, And The Towns They Built Were Shaped By The Urge To Go Onward.

I Am Too Sick To Work And Haven't Money Enough To Last 2 Months And Pay Income Tax. I Want To Keep Going But Do Not See Quite How, And There Is No Alternative - Rather Than Justify My Mother's 25-year Dread Of My "coming Back On Her, Sick," I Must Kill Myself. If She Has To Pay Funeral Costs, At Least She Will Cut Them To The Bone And I Will Not Be Here To Endure Her Martyrdom And Prolong It By Living.