The Word Snob Belongs To The Sour-grape

What I Like In A Good Author Is Not What He Says But What He Whispers.

For Souls In Growth, Great Quarrels Are Great Emancipations.

What Shall I Compare It To, This Fantastic Thing I Call My Mind? To A Waste-paper Basket, To A Sieve Choked With Sediment, Or To A Barrel Full Of Floating Froth And Refuse? No, What It Is Really Most Like Is A Spider's Web, Insecurely Hung On Leaves And Twigs, Quivering In Every Wind, And Sprinkled With Dewdrops And Dead Flies. And At Its Centre, Pondering Forever The Problem Of Existence, Sits Motionless The Spider-like And Uncanny Soul.

If They Lost The Incredible Conviction That They Can Change Their Wives Or Husbands, Marriage Would Collapse At Once.

I Like To Walk Down Bond Street, Thinking Of All The Things I Don't Desire.