A squalid phantasmagoria of breath

Life is essentially a cheat and its conditions are those of defeat; the redeeming things are not happiness and pleasure but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle.

I want to know you moved and breathed in the same world with me.

What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon? And the day after that, and the next thirty years?

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

Dear, don't think of getting out of bed yet. I've always suspected that early rising in early life makes one nervous.

You remind me of a smoked cigarette.