One man was so mad at me that he ended his letter, "Beware. You will never get out of this world alive."
A little hope, even hopeless hope, never hurt anybody.
Perhaps the best conversationalist in the world is the man who helps others to talk.
Death was a friend, and sleep was Death's brother.
A kind of second childhood falls on so many men. They trade their violence for the promise of a small increase of life span. In effect, the head of the house becomes the youngest child.
And, of course, people are interested only in themselves. If a story is not about the hearer he will not listen.