It Is Discouraging How Many

Everybody Was Up To Something, Especially, Of Course, Those Who Were Up To Nothing.

What I Adore Is Supreme Professionalism. I’m Bored By Writers Who Can Write Only When It’s Raining.

That Strange Feeling We Had In The War. Have You Found Anything In Your Lives Since To Equal It In Strength? A Sort Of Splendid Carelessness It Was, Holding Us Together.

My Importance To The World Is Relatively Small. On The Other Hand, My Importance To Myself Is Tremendous. I Am All I Have To Work With, To Play With, To Suffer And To Enjoy. It Is Not The Eyes Of Others That I Am Wary Of, But Of My Own. I Do Not Intend To Let Myself Down More Than I Can Possibly Help, And I Find That The Fewer Illusions I Have About Myself Or The World Around Me, The Better Company I Am For Myself.

Criticism And Bolshevism Have One Thing In Common. They Both Seek To Pull Down That Which They Could Never Build.