Pity Is Cruel. Pity Destroys.

What Have We All Got To Expect That We Allow Ourselves To Be So Lined With Disappointment?

When You Visualized A Man Or A Woman Carefully, You Could Always Begin To Feel Pity . . . That Was A Quality God's Image Carried With It . . . When You Saw The Lines At The Corners Of The Eyes, The Shape Of The Mouth, How The Hair Grew, It Was Impossible To Hate. Hate Was Just A Failure Of Imagination.

Against The Beautiful And The Clever And The Successful, One Can Wage A Pitiless War, But Not Against The Unattractive: Then The Millstone Weighs On The Breast.

One Has No Talent. I Have No Talent. It's Just A Question Of Working, Of Being Willing To Put In The Time.

They Can Print Statistics And Count The Populations In Hundreds Of Thousands, But To Each Man A City Consists Of No More Than A Few Streets, A Few Houses, A Few People. Remove Those Few And A City Exists No Longer Except As A Pain In The Memory, Like A Pain Of An Amputated Leg No Longer There.