Every Age Has A Keyhole To Which

I Shall Never Send For A Priest Or Recite An Act Of Contrition In My Last Moments. I Do Not Mind If I Lose My Soul For All Eternity. If The Kind Of God Exists Who Would Damn Me For Not Working Out A Deal With Him, Then That Is Unfortunate. I Should Not Care To Spend Eternity In The Company Of Such A Person.

Our Language, Once Homely And Colloquial, Seeks To Aggrandize Our Meanest Activities With Polysyllabic Terms Or It Retreats From Frankness Into A Stammering Verbosity.

I'm Afraid I'm Not Sufficiently Inhibited About The Things That Other Women Are Inhibited About For Me. They Feel That You've Given Away Trade Secrets.

My Occupational Hazard Is That I Can't Help Plagiarizing From Real Life.

If One Means By Style The Voice, The Irreducible And Always Recognizable And Alive Thing, Then Of Course Style Is Really Everything.