In the country Sunday is the day on which you do exactly as much work as you do on other days but feel guilty all the time you are doing it because Sunday is a day of rest.

I am neither Christian enough nor charitable enough to like anybody just because he is alive and breathing. I want people to interest or amuse me. I want them fascinating and witty or so dul as to be different. I want them either intellectually stimulating or wonderfully corny; perfectly charming or hundred percent stinker. I like my chosen companions to be distinguishable from the undulating masses and I don't care how.

Our little room was morbidly quiet and sorrow was heaped in my corner like dirty snow.

Dare we face the question of just how much of the darkness around us is of our own making?

In the country Sunday is the day on which you do exactly as much work as you do on other days but feel guilty all the time you are doing it because Sunday is a day of rest.

I'll do it because I want to but not because you tell me to!

The coffee was so strong it snarled as it lurched out of the pot.