Oh, Time Betrays Us. Time Is The

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.

I Like A Bit Of Color Myself, I Must Say. At My Time Of Life, If You Wear Nothing But Black, People Might Think You Were Too Mean To Change Frocks Between Funerals.

I Advise Nobody To Drown Sorrow In Cocoa. It Is Bad For The Figure And It Does Not Alleviate The Sorrow.

But Questioning Does Not Mean The End Of Loving, And Loving Does Not Mean The Abnegation Of Intelligence

We Are So Little, So Ignorant, So Feeble An Infant Race Crawling On A Planet Between Immensities We Haven't Even Begun To Understand, That Really We Have No Grounds For Either Congratulation Or Despair.