As lovers, the difference between men and women is that women can love all day long, but men only at times.

Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs.

We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.

He knew that all things human are transitory and therefore that it must cease one day or another. He looked forward to that day with eager longing. Love was like a parasite in his heart, nourishing a hateful existence on his life's blood; it absorbed his existence so intensely that he could take pleasure in nothing else.

The moral I draw is that the writer should seek his reward in the pleasure of his work and in release from the burden of thought; and, indifferent to aught else, care nothing for praise or censure, failure or success.

Its a toss-up when you decide to leave the beaten track. Many are called, few are chosen.

Sentimentality is the only sentiment that rubs you the wrong way.