I hope that one or two immortal lyrics will come out of all this tumbling around.
What we suffer, what we endure, what we muff, what we kill, what we miss, what we are guilty of, is done by us, as individuals, in private.
The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?
But childhood prolonged, cannot remain a fairyland. It becomes a hell.
Stupidity always accompanies evil. Or evil, stupidity.
... how much of our inner substance is it good for us to give to public griefs? The whole modern tendency to agonize over the suffering of the entire globe is surely something new.