I have a narrative, but you will be put to it to find it.

And must I, perchance, like careful writers, guard myself against the conclusions of my readers?

This head has risen above its hair in a moment of abandon known only to men who have drawn their feet out of their boots to walk awhile in the corridors of the mind.

God, children know something they can't tell; they like Red Riding Hood and the wolf in bed!

Time is a great conference planning our end, and youth is only the past putting a leg forward.

Dreams have only the pigmentation of fact.

She was nervous about the future; it made her indelicate. She was one of the most unimportantly wicked women of her time --because she could not let her time alone, and yet could never be a part of it. She wanted to be the reason for everything and so was the cause of nothing. She had the fluency of tongue and action meted out by divine providence to those who cannot think for themselves. She was the master of the over-sweet phrase, the over-tight embrace.