On the neck of the young man sparkles no gem so gracious as enterprise. Youth condemns; maturity condones.

Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good.

Sexual love is the most stupendous fact of the universe, and the most magical mystery our poor blind senses know.

Happiness, to some, is elation; to others it is mere stagnation.

Don’t ask a writer what he’s working on. It’s like asking someone with cancer on the progress of his disease.

How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!

Even pain pricks to livelier living.