My last page is always latent in my first; but the intervening windings of the way become clear only as I write.

...and wondering where he had read that clever liars give details, but that the cleverest do not.

[B]ut he had lived in a world in which, as he said, no one who loved ideas need hunger mentally.

The turnings of life seldon show a sign-post; or rather, though the sign is always there, it is usually placed some distance back, like the notices that give warning of a bad hill or a level railway-crossing.

I discovered early that crying makes my nose red, and the knowledge has helped me through several painful episodes.

I think I like 'em better like that...divinely dull...just the quiet bearers of their own beauty, like the priestesses in a Panathenaic procession.

The very good people didn't convince me; I felt they'd never been tempted. But you knew; you understood; you had felt the world outside tugging at one with all its golden hands — and yet you hated the things it asks of one; you hated happiness bought by disloyalty and cruelty and indifference.