Lovers always believe one another's sleight-of-hand tricks.

The neuroses parody the virtues.

The past goes right on pulling me apart, though I can scarcely remember the people or the issues.

With age, the mind grows slower and more wily.

My father liked to moralize, and so do I. But he was in earnest, while I am embarrassed and pretend that I am merely being witty.

Perhaps fortunately, no one has ever found out what it would be like to have all his wishes fulfilled.

Outside literature, high-flown sentiments are merely exasperating.