Between Skin And Skin, There Is Only

There Are Two Kinds Of Hangover: In One You Feel Ill And Incapable, In The Other You Feel Ill And Lucid.

Our Accepting What We Are Must Always Inhibit Our Being What We Ought To Be.

I Suppose I'd Had, By The Standards Of That Pre-permissive Time, A Good Deal Of Sex For My Age. Girls, Or A Certain Kind Of Girl, Liked Me; I Had A Car-not So Common Among Undergraduates In Those Days-and I Had Some Money. I Wasn't Ugly; And Even More Important, I Had My Loneliness, Which, As Every Cad Knows, Is A Deadly Weapon With Women. My 'technique' Was To Make A Show Of Unpredictability, Cynicism, And Indifference. Then, Like A Conjurer With His White Rabbit, I Produced The Solitary Heart.

The Supposed Great Misery Of Our Century Is The Lack Of Time.

But However Good You Get At Translating Personality Into Line Or Paint It's No Go If Your Personality Isn't Worth Translating.