I am damnably sick of Italy, Italian and Italians, outrageously, illogically sick.... I hate to think that Italians ever did anything in the way of art.... What did they do but illustrate a page or so of the New Testament! They themselves think they have a monopoly in the line. I am dead tired of their bello and bellezza.

I have left my book, I have left my room, For I heard you singing Through the gloom.

The light music of whiskey falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.

Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.

People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.

Wipe your glasses with what you know.

Your mind will give back to you exactly what you put into it.