What I Have Found Is, Anything One

Makes Of Men Date, Like Makes Of Car.

Memory Must Be Patchy; What Is More Alarming Is Its Face-savingness. Something In One Shrinks From Catching It Out - Unique To Oneself, One's Own, One's Claim To Identity, It Implicates One's Identity In Its Fibbing.

The Heart May Think It Knows Better: The Senses Know That Absence Blots People Out. We Really Have No Absent Friends.

Yes, Writing A Novel, My Boy, Is Like Driving Pigs To Market - You Have One Of Them Making A Bolt Down The Wrong Lane; Another Won't Get Over The Right Stile.

... In Nine Out Of Ten Cases The Original Wish To Write Is The Wish To Make Oneself Felt[ellipsis In Source] The Non-essential Writer Never Gets Past That Wish.