Innocence Is A Kind Of

O God, You've Done Enough, You've Robbed Me Of Enough, I'm Too Tired And Old To Learn To Love, Leave Me Alone For Ever.

Despair Is The Price One Pays For Setting Himself An Impossible Aim.

You Don't Bless What You Love...it's When You Want To Love And You Can't Manage It. You Stretch Out Your Hands And You Say God Forgive Me That I Can't Love But Bless This Thing Anyway...we Have To Bless What We Hate...it Would Be Better To Love, But That's Not Always Possible.

My Two Fingers On A Typewriter Have Never Connected With My Brain. My Hand On A Pen Does. A Fountain Pen, Of Course. Ball-point Pens Are Only Good For Filling Out Forms On A Plane.

I Couldn't Have Thought Of Her More. Even Vacancy Was Crowded With Her.