At Sixty-three Years Of Age, Less A

Be Happy. It's One Way Of Being Wise.

Writing Only Leads To More Writing.

You Will Do Foolish Things, But Do Them With Enthusiasm.

Books, Books, Books. It Was Not That I Read So Much. I Read And Re-read The Same Ones. But All Of Them Were Necessary To Me. Their Presence, Their Smell, The Letters Of Their Titles, And The Texture Of Their Leather Bindings.

- And How Time Flies! What, Has It Already Been Twenty Years, Already Forty Years That We Are Together? Why, How Terrible! We Haven't Yet Said All We Wanted To Say To Each Other... May We Have A Little Respite, Or Else May We Be Allowed To Begin All Over Again!