The difficulty about all this dying, is that you can't tell a fellow anything about it, so where does the fun come in?

What one reads, or rather all that comes to us, is surely only of interest and value in proportion as we find ourselves therein, -- form given to what was vague, what slumbered stirred to life.

You must remember that a woman, by nature, needs much less to feed upon than a man, a few emotions and she is satisfied.

What sense of superiority it gives one to escape reading some book which every one else is reading.

The difficulty about all this dying, is that you can't tell a fellow anything about it, so where does the fun come in?

Notwithstanding the poverty of my outside experience, I have always had a significance for myself, and every chance to stumle along my straight and narrow little path, and to worship at the feet of my Deity, and what more can a human soul ask for?

The gain isn't counted to the recluse and inactive that, having nothing to measure themselves by and never being tested by failure, they simmer and soak perpetually in conscious complacency.