In The Intercourse Of Life,

We Only Confess Our Little Faults To Persuade People That We Have No Big Ones.

A Work Can Become Modern Only If It Is First Postmodern. Postmodernism Thus Understood Is Not Modernism At Its End But In The Nascent State, And This State Is Constant.

One May Outwit Another, But Not All The Others.

Some Accidents There Are In Life That A Little Folly Is Necessary To Help Us Out Of.

The Defects Of The Mind, Like Those Of The Face, Grow Worse With Age.