By The Time I Was Eleven Years

Vulgarity Is, In Reality, Nothing But A Modern, Chic, Pert Descendant Of The Goddess Dullness.

By 'happiness' I Do Not Mean Worldly Success Or Outside Approval, Though It Would Be Priggish To Deny That Both These Things Are Most Agreeable. I Mean The Inner Consciousness, The Inner Conviction That One Is Doing Well The Thing That One Is Best Fitted To Do By Nature.

Why Not Be Oneself? That Is The Whole Secret Of A Successful Appearance. If One Is A Greyhound, Why Try To Look Like A Pekingese?

I Am Patient With Stupidity But Not With Those Who Are Proud Of It.

It Is Hardly Respectable To Be Good Nowadays.