But No Artist, I Now Realize, Can

Never Tell All You Know—not Even To The Person You Know Best.

It's A Mystery To Me How Anyone Ever Gets Any Nourishment In This Place. They Must Eat Their Meals Standing Up By The Window So As To Be Sure Of Not Missing Anything.

I Have Always Admired The Esquimaux (eskimos). One Fine Day A Delicious Meal Is Cooked For Dear Old Mother, And Then She Goes Walking Away Over The Ice, And Doesn't Come Back.

Coffee In England Always Tastes Like A Chemistry Experiment.

Everyone Is A Potential Murderer-in Everyone There Arises From Time To Time Thewish To Kill-though Not The Will To Kill.