I do not know who first invented the myth of sexual equality. But it is a myth willfully fostered and nourished by certain semi-scientists and other fiction writers. And it has done more, I suspect, to unsettle marital happiness than any other false doctrine of this myth-ridden age.

In Australia, not reading poetry is the national pastime.

A hobby a day keeps the doldrums away.

One applauds the industry of professional philanthropy. But it has its dangers. After a while the private heart begins to harden. We fling letters into the wastebasket, are abrupt to telephoned solicitations. Charity withers in the incessant gale.

It's hard / Keeping up with the avant-garde.

Of one thing I am certain, the body is not the measure of healing, peace is the measure.

Praise is warming and desirable. But it is an earned thing. It has to be deserved, like a hug from a child.