Ants In The House Seem To Be,

Lives Are Only One With Living. How Dare We, In Our Egos, Claim Catastrophe In The Rise And Fall Of The Individual Entity? There Is Only Life, And We Are Beads Strung On Its Strong And Endless Thread.

A Woman Has Got To Love A Bad Man Once Or Twice In Her Life, To Be Thankful For A Good One.

Readers Themselves, I Think, Contribute To A Book. They Add Their Own Imaginations, And It Is As Though The Writer Only Gave Them Something To Work On, And They Did The Rest.

Information Can Be Passed From One To Another, Like A Silver Dollar. There's Absolutely No Wisdom Except What You Learn For Yourself.

Personal Publicity Is Apt To Be Dangerous To Any Writer's Integrity; For The Moment He Begins To Fancy Himself As Quite A Person, A Taint Creeps Into His Work.