So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home.

I hope I haven't given you the impression that I consider kissing intrinsically irrational.

Intelligence is a mere instrument of circumstances.

one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty−one that everything afterward savors of anti−climax.

I've got an adjective that just fits you.

Very well then, better a sane crook than a mad puritan.

Very few of the people who accentuate the futility of life remark the futility of themselves. Perhaps they think that in proclaiming the evil of living they somehow salvage their own worth from the ruin - but they don't, even you and I.