Nobody knew my rose of the world but me... I had too much glory. They don't want glory like that in nobody's heart

-You're simple, straightforward and honest, a little bit on the primitive side, I should think. To interest you a woman would have to... -To lay her cards out on the table.

Morning can always be counted on to bring us back to a more realistic level.

And funerals are pretty compared to deaths.

The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.

And it was about then, about that time, that I began to find life unsatisfactory as an explanation of itself and was forced to adopt the method of the artist of not explaining but putting the blocks together in some other way that seems more significant to him. Which is a rather fancy way of saying I started writing.

I think that hate is a feeling that can only exist where there is no understanding.