It is always easier to be an epicure of a small repast than of a banquet.

One lives everything down in time.

Tradition is a fine thing. Nothing comes out of the blue, except perhaps thunderbolts and they are not really very useful things.

Memory, with its fugitive adjustments, is the merciful veil to the grim enactments of the first law. It hides the anguish in the human heart which is always craving for perpetuity.

The basic trouble is that people make statements without sufficient data.

It is always easier to be an epicure of a small repast than of a banquet.

If memory survived eternally, then indeed there might be justification for a belief in hell.