Distracted From Distraction By Distraction

Each Venture Is A New Beginning, A Raid On The Inarticulate With Shabby Equipment Always Deteriorating In The General Mess Of Imprecision Of Feeling.

When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly And Paces About Her Room Again, Alone, She Smooths Her Hair With Automatic Hand, And Puts A Record On The Gramophone.

You Do Not Know How Much They Mean To Me, My Friends, And How, How Rare And Strange It Is, To Find In A Life Composed So Much, So Much Of Odds And Ends, (for Indeed I Do Not Love It ... You Knew? You Are Not Blind! How Keen You Are!) To Find A Friend Who Has These Qualities, Who Has, And Gives Those Qualities Upon Which Friendship Lives. How Much It Means That I Say This To You- Without These Friendships-life, What Cauchemar!

That Was My Way Of Putting It-not Very Satisfactory: A Periphrastic Study In A Worn-out Poetical Fashion, Leaving One Still With The Intolerable Wrestle With Words And Meanings.

The Nobel Is A Ticket To One's Own Funeral. No One Has Ever Done Anything After He Got It.