For A Good Man Fame Is Always

One Has No Talent. I Have No Talent. It's Just A Question Of Working, Of Being Willing To Put In The Time.

At One With The One, It Didn't Mean A Thing Besides A Glass Of Guinness On A Sunny Day.

Unhappiness In A Child Accumulates Because He Sees No End To The Dark Tunnel. The Thirteen Weeks Of A Term Might Just As Well Be Thirteen Years.

There Was Always Another Side To A Joke, The Side Of The Victim.

Nobody Here Could Ever Talk About A Heaven On Earth. Heaven Remained Rigidly In Its Proper Place On The Other Side Of Death, And On This Side Flourished The Injustices, The Cruelties, The Meanness That Elsewhere People So Cleverly Hushed Up. Here You Could Love Human Beings Nearly As God Loved Them, Knowing The Worst: You Didn't Love A Pose, A Pretty Dress, A Sentiment Artfully Assumed.