Of All Human Foibles Love Of Living

The Maturing Process Of Becoming A Writer Is Akin To That Of A Harlot. First You Do It For Love, Then For A Few Friends, And Finally Only For Money.

Perfect Reason Avoids All Extremes.

No Matter What Everybody Says, Ultimately These Things Can Harm Us Only By The Way We React To Them.

No Reason Makes It Right To Shun Accepted Ways From Stubborn Spite; And We May Better Join The Foolish Crowd Than Cling To Wisdom, Lonely Though Unbowed.

It Infuriates Me To Be Wrong When I Know I'm Right.