The Problem Of Pretending To Be Alive.

Nobody Here Could Ever Talk About A Heaven On Earth. Heaven Remained Rigidly In Its Proper Place On The Other Side Of Death, And On This Side Flourished The Injustices, The Cruelties, The Meanness That Elsewhere People So Cleverly Hushed Up. Here You Could Love Human Beings Nearly As God Loved Them, Knowing The Worst: You Didn't Love A Pose, A Pretty Dress, A Sentiment Artfully Assumed.

Eternity Is Said Not To Be An Extension Of Time But An Absence Of Time, And Sometimes It Seemed To Me That Her Abandonment Touched That Strange Mathematical Point Of Endlessness, A Point With No Width, Occupying No Space.

He Was Impregnably Armored By His Good Intentions And His Ignorance.

I Have Never Understood Why People Who Can Swallow The Enormous Improbability Of A Personal God Boggle At A Personal Devil.

Like Some Wines Our Love Could Neither Mature Nor Travel.