I Love America, But I Don't Like

Good Lord, I Don't Know What 'rights' A Man Has! And I Don't Know The Solution Of Boredom. If I Did, I'd Be The One Philosopher That Had The Cure For Living. But I Do Know That About Ten Times As Many People Find Their Lives Dull, And Unnecessarily Dull, As Ever Admit It; And I Do Believe That If We Busted Out And Admitted It Sometimes, Instead Of Being Nice And Patient And Loyal For Sixty Years, And Then Nice And Patient And Dead For The Rest Of Eternity, Why, Maybe, Possibly, We Might Make Life More Fun.

There Are Two Insults Which No Human Being Will Endure: The Assertion That He Hasn't A Sense Of Humor, And The Doubly Impertinent Assertion That He Has Never Known Trouble.

Indians, Of Course, Have No "theology," And Indeed No Word For The System Of Credulity In Which The White Priests Arrange For God, Who Must Be Entirely Bewildered By It, A Series Of Excuses For His Failures.

Paris Is One Of The Largest, And Certainly It Is The Pleasantest, Of Modern American Cities.

The Cocktail Filled Him With A Whirling Exhilaration Behind Which He Was Aware Of Devastating Desires—to Rush Places In Fast Motors, To Kiss Girls, To Sing, To Be Witty. ... He Perceived That He Had Gifts Of Profligacy Which Had Been Neglected. —chapter 8