But why wasn't I born, alas, in an age of Adjectives; why can one no longer write of silver-shedding Tears and moon-tailed Peacocks, of eloquent Death, of the Negro and star-enameled Night?

It is the dread of something happening, something unknown and dreadful, that makes us do anything to keep the flicker of talk from dying out.

I can't forgive my friends for dying; I don't find these vanishing acts of theirs at all amusing.

When we say we are certain so-and-so can't possibly have done it, what we mean is that we think he very likely did.

But why wasn't I born, alas, in an age of Adjectives; why can one no longer write of silver-shedding Tears and moon-tailed Peacocks, of eloquent Death, of the Negro and star-enameled Night?

It is a matter of life and death for married people to interrupt each others stories; for it they did not, they would burst.

Self-respecting people do not care to peep at their reflections in unexpected mirrors, or to see themselves as others see them.