Rome Was A Poem Pressed Into Service

A Book Is Meant Not Only To Be Read, But To Haunt You, To Importune You Like A Lover Or A Parent, To Be In Your Teeth Like A Piece Of Gristle.

Travel Is Like Adultery: One Is Always Tempted To Be Unfaithful To One's Own Country. To Have Imagination Is Inevitably To Be Dissatisfied With Where You Live. There Is In Men, As Peter Quennell Said, "a Centrifugal Tendency." In Our Wanderlust, We Are Lovers Looking For Consummation.

There Are Few Things More Subtly Distressing Than An Inappropriate Gift From Someone Close To You.

The Epic Implications Of Being Human End In More Than This: We Start Our Lives As If They Were Momentous Stories, With A Beginning, A Middle And An Appropriate End, Only To Find That They Are Mostly Middles.

Paranoids Are The Only Ones Who Notice Things Anymore.