We have now sunk to a depth at which restatement of the obvious is the first duty of intelligent men.
The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became the truth.
There is a minority of gifted, willfuf people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong in this class.
It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words.
Can you not understand that liberty is worth more than ribbons?
There is only one way to make money at writing, and that is to marry a publisher's daughter.