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

I go about in the world - free, busy, happy. Among people, I have no time to think of myself.

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

But mayn't desertion be a brave thing? A fine thing? To desert a thing we've gone beyond - to have the courage to desert it and walk right off from the dead thing to the live thing - ?

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.

In writing ... remember that the biggest stories are not written about wars, or about politics, or even murders. The biggest stories are written about the things which draw human beings closer together.

What we seek we do not find - that would be too trim and tidy for so reckless and opulent a thing as life. It is something else we find.