I Have Nothing But Wastes And Wilds

It Was The Only Way To Progress, To Stop.

There Are Two Moments Worthwhile In Writing, The One When You Start And The Other When You Throw It In The Waste-paper Basket.

Habit Is A Compromise Effected Between The Individual And His Environment, Or Between The Individual And His Own Organic Eccentricities, The Guarantee Of A Dull Inviolability, The Lightning-conductor Of His Existence.

We Should Have Thought Of It When The World Was Young, In The Nineties.

Words Are The Clothes Thoughts Wear.