Just when I most needed important conversation, a sniff of the man-wide world, that is, at least one brainy companion who could translate my friendly language into his tongue of undying carnal love, I was forced to lounge in our neighborhood park, surrounded by children.

Sometimes, walking with a friend, I forget the world.

Everyone, real or invented, deserves the open destiny of life.

What we owe men is some freedom from their part in a murderous game in which they kick each other to death with one foot, bracing themselves on our various comfortable places with the other.

All that is really necessary for survival of the fittest, it seems, is an interest in life, good, bad or peculiar.

Rosiness is not a worse windowpane than gloomy gray when viewing the world.

No metaphor reinvents the job of the nurture of children except to muddy or mock.