How ungenerously in later life we disclaim the virtuous moods of our youth, living in retrospect long, summer days of unreflecting dissipation.

I put the words down and push them a bit.

For in that city [New York] there is neurosis in the air which the inhabitants mistake for energy.

I do not believe the expenditure of $2.50 for a book entitles the purchaser to the personal friendship of the author.

O God, if there is a God, forgive him his sins, if there is such a thing as sin.

I know very few young people, but it seems to me that they are all possessed with an almost fatal hunger for permanence.

Only when one has lost all curiosity about the future has one reached the age to write an autobiography.