Some days are happy days - of themselves, as if for their own sakes. They seem to be enjoying themselves, regardless of what use may be made of them.

Hurts of childhood live on; in one form or other they are there to the end.

A clock is a little machine that shuts us out from the wonder of time.

Defeat furnishes good material to the poets and the artists, but none of us care to have the glory of the conquered apply to us.

... you can't put out a light just because it may light the wrong person.

Even though you've given up a past it hasn't given you up. It comes uninvited - and sometimes half welcome.

For nothing is so hard to hear as that which is half known, and evaded. One never denies so hotly as in denying to one's self what one fears is true, and one never resents so bitterly as in resenting that which one cannot say one has the right to resent.