Nothing, I Believe, Is So

As Life Goes On It Becomes Tiring To Keep Up The Character You Invented For Yourself, And So You Relapse Into Individuality And Become More Like Yourself Everyday.

I Looked At Her. Sheila Was My Girl--the Girl I Wanted--and Wanted For Keeps. But It Wasn't Any Use Having Illusions About Her. Sheila Was A Liar And Probably Always Would Be A Liar. It Was Her Way Of Fighting For Survival--the Quick Easy Glib Denial. It Was A Child's Weapon--and She'd Probably Never Got Out Of Using It. If I Wanted Sheila, I Must Accept Her As She Was--be At Hand To Prop Up The Weak Places. We've All Got Our Weak Places. Mine Were Different From Sheila's, But They Were There.

A Lot Of Trouble Has Been Caused By Memoirs. Indiscreet Revelations, That Sort Of Thing. People Who Have Been Close As An Oyster All Their Lives Seem Positively To Relish Causing Trouble When They Themselves Shall Be Comfortably Dead.

How Often Have I Not Heard A Perfectly Intelligent Female Says, In The Tone Of One Clinching An Argument, 'edgar Says -- ' And All The Time You Are Perfectly Aware That Edgar Is A Perfect Fool.

Love Is Not Everything ... It Is Only When We Are Young That We Think It Is.