Sheer Madness Is, Of Course, The Highest

My Only Solution For The Problem Of Habitual Accidents Is To Stay In Bed All Day. Even Then, There Is Always The Chance That You Will Fall Out.

It Must Be A Source Of Great Chagrin To Those In Charge To Think Of So Many People Being Able To Stick A Stamp On A Letter And Drop It In A Mail Box Without Any Trouble Or Suffering At All. They Are Probably Working On A System This Very Minute, Trying To Devise Some Way In Which The Public Can Be Made To Fill Out A Blank, Stand In Line, Consult Some Underling Who Will Refer Him To A Superior, And Then Be Made To Black Up With Burned Cork Before They Can Mail A Letter.

I Can't Quite Define My Aversion To Asking Questions Of Strangers. From Snatches Of Family Battles Which I Have Heard Drifting Up From Railway Stations And Street Corners, I Gather That There Are A Great Many Men Who Share My Dislike For It, As Well As An Equal Number Of Women Who ... Believe It To Be The Solution To Most Of This World's Problems.

There Is Probably No More Obnoxious Class Of Citizen, Taken End For End, Than The Returning Vacationist.

I Can Get Dressed Earlier In The Evening With Every Intention Of Going To A Dance At Midnight, But Somehow After The Theatre The Thing To Do Seems To Be Either To Go To Bed Or Sit Around Somewhere. It Doesn't Seem Possible That Somewhere People Can Be Expecting You At An Hour Like That.