I Knew That Part Of Friendship Consisted

It Was Hard To Remember In The Heavy And Sensual Clarity Of These Mornings; I Forgot Whom I Hated And Who Hated Me. I Wanted To Break Out Crying From Stabs Of Hopeless Joy, Or Intolerable Promise, Or Because These Mornings Were Too Full Of Beauty For Me, Because I Knew Of Too Much Hate To Be Contained In A World Like This.

Sarcasm... The Protest Of Those Who Are Weak.

Teenagers Today Are More Free To Be Themselves And To Accept Themselves.

Looking Back Now Across Fifteen Years I Could See With Great Clarity The Fear I Had Lived In, Which Must Mean That In The Interval I Had Succeeded In A Very Important Undertaking: I Must Have Made My Escape From It.

The Summer Of 1943 At Exeter Was As Happy A Time As I Ever Had In My Life.