Innocence is a kind of insanity
What have we all got to expect that we allow ourselves to be so lined with disappointment?
...every monologue sooner or later becomes a discussion.
If you live in a place for long you cease to read about it.
So much in writing depends on the superficiality of one's days.
Grief and disappointment are like hate: they make men ugly with self-pity and bitterness. And how selfish they make us too.