Why Haven't We Seventy Lives? One Is

The Ruder Lecturers Are, And The Louder Their Voices, The More Converts They Make To Their Opinions.

Nature Is Not Silent, And Never Was A Name More Derisively Inappropriate Than When We Speak Of These Non-human Creatures Who Hoot And Crow And Bray As The Dumb Animals.

The Greatest Mercy, I Have Often Thought, Of The Mediterranean Coast Lies In Its Mosquitoes. Did We Not Suffer From Their Unwelcome Attention, We Could Not Bear Our Holidays To End.

You Are Quite, Quite Wrong If You Think That ... I Find Your Happiness Painful. What Matters Is That Happiness - The Golden Day - Should Exist In The World, Not Much To Whom It Comes. For All Of Us It Is So Transitory A Thing, How Could One Not Draw Joy From Its Arrival?

Why, Why, When One Writes, Does A Sort Of Shackle Bind One's Imagination? I Become Conscious Of A Deadening Mediocrity, Perhaps A Form Of Mental Cowardice, And I Long To Break Free, To Let My Imagination Take Wings. It Doesn't - Yet.