I Get A Warm Feeling Among My

Self-pity Is Essentially Humorless, Devoid Of That Lightness Of Touch Which Gives Understanding Of Life.

Books Do Furnish A Room.

One Passes Through The World Knowing Few, If Any, Of The Important Things About Even The People With Whom One Has Been From Time To Time In The Closest Intimacy.

He Gave Me A Look Of Great Contempt; As I Supposed, For Venturing, Even By Implication, To Draw A Parallel Between A Lack Of Affluence That Might, Literally, Affect My Purchase Of Rare Vintages, And A Figure Of Speech Intended Delicately To Convey His Own Dire Want For The Bare Necessities Of Life. He Remained Silent For Several Seconds, As If Trying To Make Up His Mind Whether He Could Ever Bring Himself To Speak To Me Again; And Then Said Gruffly: 'i've Got To Go Now.'

You Have To Be A Product Of The Product.