If We Haven't A Grouch Against Fortune,

Really, Trees Are Nearly As Important As Men, And Much Better Behaved.

This Alone Is To Be Feared - The Closed Mind, The Sleeping Imagination, The Death Of The Spirit. The Death Of The Body Is To That, I Think, A Little Thing.

The Greatest Mercy, I Have Often Thought, Of The Mediterranean Coast Lies In Its Mosquitoes. Did We Not Suffer From Their Unwelcome Attention, We Could Not Bear Our Holidays To End.

The World, With All Its Beauty And Adventure, Its Richness And Variety, Is Darkened By Cruelty. Death, If It Ends The Loveliness, The Adventure, Ends Also That. Death Balances The Picture.

I Can't Think Why I Was Cursed With This Inordinate Desire To Write, If The High Gods Weren't Going To Give Me Some More Adquate Means Of Expressing Myself Than That Which My Present Pedestrian Prose Affords.