I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin.

This grove, that was now so peaceful, must then have rung with cries, I thought; and even with the thought I could believe I heard it ringing still.

The greatest engineering is the engineering of men.

The less I understood of this farrago, the less I was in a position to judge of its importance.

The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish.

Well, well, Henry James is pretty good, though he is of the nineteenth century, and that glaringly.

Lastly (and this is, perhaps, the golden rule), no woman should marry a man who does not smoke.