In a few days I'll have lived one score and three days in this vale of tears. On I plod-always bored, often drunk, doing no penance for my faults-rather do I become more tolerant of myself from day to day, hardening my crystal heart with blasphemous humor and shunning only toothpicks, pathos, and poverty as being the three unforgivable things in life.

She admired him; she was used to clutching her hands together in his wake and heaving audible sighs.

A sense of responsibility would spoil her. She's too pretty.

No such thing as a man willing to be honest - that would be like a blind man willing to see.

Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.

France was a land, England was a people, but America, having about it still that quality of the idea, was harder to utter - it was the graves at Shiloh and the tired, drawn, nervous faces of its great men, and the country boys dying in the Argonne for a phrase that was empty before their bodies withered. It was a willingness of the heart.

A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about.