An Improper Mind Is A Perpetual Feast.

We Grow With Years More Fragile In Body, But Morally Stutter, And Can Throw Off The Chill Of A Bad Conscience Almost At Once.

I Am One Of The Unpraised, Unrewarded Millions Without Whom Statistics Would Be A Bankrupt Science. It Is We Who Are Born, Who Marry, Who Die, In Constant Ratios.

One's Own Vanities And Humiliations I Find A Delicious Subject For Conversation. Things Said Of Me Behind My Back I Don't Enjoy, And Don't Listen To Them.

Growing Old Is Not A Gradual Decline, But A Series Of Drops, Full Of Sorrow, From One Ledge To Another Below It.

We Need New Friends; Some Of Us Are Cannibals Who Have Eaten Their Old Friends Up; Others Must Have Ever-renewed Audiences Before Whom To Re-enact The Ideal Version Of Their Lives.