Most Of Us Have To Be Self-righteous

An Author Who Waits For The Right 'mood' Will Soon Find That 'moods' Get Fewer And Fewer Until They Cease Altogether.

Babies Are A Nuisance, Of Course. But So Does Everything Seem To Be That Is Worth While – Husbands And Books And Committees And Being Loved And Everything. We Have To Choose Between Barren Ease And Rich Unrest – Or Rather, One Does Not Choose.

I Thought That Spring Must Last Forevermore, For I Was Young And Loved, And It Was May.

Why, I Wonder, Do People Who At One Time Or Another Have All Been Young Themselves, And Who Ought Therefore To Know Better, Generalize So Suavely And So Mendaciously About The Golden Hours Of Youth-that Period Of Life When Every Sorrow Seems Permanent, And Every Setback Insuperable?

For A Woman As For A Man, Marriage Might Enormously Help Or Devastatingly Hinder The Growth Of Her Power To Contribute Something Impersonally Valuable To The Community In Which She Lived, But It Was Not That Power, And Could Not Be Regarded As An End In Itself. Nor, Even, Were Children Ends In Themselves; It Was Useless To Go On Producing Human Beings Merely In Order That They, In Their Sequence, Might Produce Others, And Never Turn From This Business Of Continuous Procreation To The Accomplishment Of Some Definite And Lasting Piece Of Work.