[t]here Is No Greater Sign

He Fell In Love With Himself At First Sight And It Is A Passion To Which He Has Always Remained Faithful. Selflove Seems So Often Unrequited.

On The Stage . . . Masks Are Assumed With Some Regard To Procedure; In Everyday Life, The Participants Act Their Parts Without Consideration Either For Suitability Of Scene Or For The Words Spoken By The Rest Of The Cast: The Result Is A General Tendency For Things To Be Brought To The Level Of Farce Even When The Theme Is Serious Enough.

He Gave Me A Look Of Great Contempt; As I Supposed, For Venturing, Even By Implication, To Draw A Parallel Between A Lack Of Affluence That Might, Literally, Affect My Purchase Of Rare Vintages, And A Figure Of Speech Intended Delicately To Convey His Own Dire Want For The Bare Necessities Of Life. He Remained Silent For Several Seconds, As If Trying To Make Up His Mind Whether He Could Ever Bring Himself To Speak To Me Again; And Then Said Gruffly: 'i've Got To Go Now.'

Writing Is A Combination Of Intangible Creative Fantasy And Appallingly Hard Work.

Self-pity Is Essentially Humorless, Devoid Of That Lightness Of Touch Which Gives Understanding Of Life.