To My Mind The Most

You Wake Up In The Morning, And Lo! Your Purse Is Magically Filled With Twenty-four Hours Of The Unmanufactured Tissue Of The Universe Of Your Life! It Is Yours. It Is The Most Precious Of Possessions. No One Can Take It From You. It Is Unstealable. And No One Receives Either More Or Less Than You Receive.

Saw Washington Monument. Phallic. Appalling. A National Catastrophe.

Pessimism, When You Get Used To It, Is Just As Agreeable As Optimism.

The Real Tragedy Is The Tragedy Of The Man Who Never In His Life Braces Himself For His One Supreme Effort-he Never Stretches To His Full Capacity, Never Stands Up To His Full Stature.

Does There, I Wonder, Exist A Being Who Has Read All, Or Approximately All, That The Person Of Average Culture Is Supposed To Have Read, And That Not To Have Read Is A Social Sin? If Such A Being Does Exist, Surely He Is An Old, A Very Old Man.