Now Is The Age Of Anxiety.

We Are Lived By Powers We Pretend To Understand.

He Was My North, My South, My East And West, My Working Week And My Sunday Rest, My Noon, My Midnight, My Talk, My Song; I Thought That Love Would Last Forever: I Was Wrong.

About Suffering They Were Never Wrong, The Old Masters.

Between Friends Differences In Taste Or Opinion Are Irritating In Direct Proportion To Their Triviality.

You Will Be A Poet Because You Will Always Be Humiliated.