In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

You can’t repeat the past.” “Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you can!

There's so much spring in the air- there's so much lazy sweetness in your heart.

Nothing is as obnoxious as other people's luck.

After all, life hasn't much to offer except youth, and I suppose for older people, the love of youth in others.

He was so terrible that he was no longer terrible, only dehumanized.

Then it had not been merely the stars to which he had aspired on that June night. He came alive to me, delivered suddenly from the womb of his purposeless splendour.