Literature Is A Toil And A Snare,

Sex And A Cocktail: They Both Lasted About As Long, Had The Same Effect, And Amounted To About The Same Thing.

Let There Be An End ... Of All This Welter Of Pity, Which Is Only Self-pity Reflected Onto Some Obvious Surface.

Give Up Bearing Children And Bear Hope And Love And Devotion To Those Already Born.

I Cannot Get Any Sense Of An Enemy - Only Of A Disaster.

That's It! When You Come To Know Men, That's How They Are: Too Sensitive In The Wrong Place.