As life goes on it becomes tiring to keep up the character you invented for yourself, and so you relapse into individuality and become more like yourself everyday.

One is left with the horrible feeling now that war settles nothing; that to win a war is as disastrous as to lose one.

Never tell all you know—not even to the person you know best.

It is odd how, when you have a secret belief of your own which you do not wish to acknowledge, the voicing of it by someone else will rouse you to a fury of denial.

As life goes on it becomes tiring to keep up the character you invented for yourself, and so you relapse into individuality and become more like yourself everyday.

"Look here," I said, "people like to collect disasters."

Hate doesn't last. Love does.