It [socialism] Was A Kind Of Political

This Grossly Advertised Wonder [venice], This Gold Idol With Clay Feet, This Trompe-l'oeil, This Painted Deception, This Cliche-what Intelligent Iconoclast Could Fail To Experience A Destructive Impulse In Her Presence?

Illiteracy At The Poverty Level (mainly A Matter Of Bad Grammar) Does Not Alarm Me Nearly As Much As The Illiteracy Of The Well-to-do.

My Occupational Hazard Is That I Can't Help Plagiarizing From Real Life.

People With Bad Consciences Always Fear The Judgment Of Children.

I Really Tried, Or So I Thought, To Avoid Lying, But It Seemed To Me That They Forced It On Me By The Difference In Their Vision Of Things, So That I Was Always Transposing Reality For Them Into Something They Could Understand.