A confessional passage has probably never been written that didn't stink a little bit of the writer's pride in having given up his pride.
Girls. You never know what they're going to think.
I could happily lie down and die sometimes.
All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
They love their reasons for loving us almost as much as they love us, and most of the time more. It's not so good, that way.
For joy, apparently, it was all Franny could do to hold the phone, even with both hands.