I'm restless. My whole generation is restless. I'm sick of a system where the richest man gets the most beautiful girl if he wants her, where the artist without an income has to sell his talents to a button manufacturer. Even if I had no talents I'd not be content to work ten years, condemned either to celibacy or a furtive indulgence, to give some man's son an automobile.

The farmers may be the backbone of the country, but who wants to be a backbone?

But with every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up, and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room.

People living alone get used to loneliness.

For what it’s worth, it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be.

I'm merely trying to give you the sort of argument that would appeal to your intelligence.

From the ruins, lonely and inexplicable as the sphinx, rose the Empire State Building.