Any Marriage Worth The Name

She Did Not So Much Cook As Assassinate Food.

As Often As Not Our Whole Self...engages Itself In The Most Trivial Of Things, The Shape Of A Particular Hill, A Road In The Town In Which We Lived As Children, The Movement Of Wind In Grass. The Things We Shall Take With Us When We Die Will Nearly All Be Small Things.

Nothing Lasts. Not Even A Great Sorrow.

Truth Is The Only Good And The Purest Pity. ... Men Lie For Profit Or For Pity. All Lies Turn To Poison, But A Lie That Is Told For Pity Or Shame Breeds Such A Host Of Ills That No Power On Earth Can Compass Their Redemption.

Not Literature Alone, But Society Itself Is Wormed And Rotten When Language Ceases To Be Respected Not Merely By Advertisers And Politicians, But By Persons Of Learning And Authority.