Happy is the day whose history is not written down.

I wasn't educated. I was very lucky.

[On an anarchist acquaintance:] Everything in appearance the most alarmist aunt could wish.

Here is a kitchen improvement, in return for Peacock. For roasting or basting a chicken, render down your fat or butter with cider: about a third cider. Let it come together slowly, till the smell of cider and the smell of fat are as one. This will enliven even a frozen chicken.

Children driven good are apt to be driven mad.

Is it the realization that people recently psychoanalyzed tend to be dreadful bores which makes the U.S.A. army reject them for the draft?

For the last six weeks I have found myself pestered by some characters in search of an author.