American bankers believe in the personal touch; the teller conveys a sense that he happens to be there accidentally and he is overjoyed at the lucky chance of the encounter.

Thought's a luxury. Do you think the peasant sits and thinks of God and Democracy when he gets inside his mud hut at night?

I measured love by the extent of my jealousy.

To comfort me is like the wrong memory at the wrong place or time: if one is lonely one prefers discomfort.

Indifference and pride look very much alike, and he probably thought I was proud.

I'm tired and I'm sick to death of being without you.

It is always of interest to know what strikes another human being as remarkable.