A Crowd, Proportionately To Its

It Is Easier To Confess A Defect Than To Claim A Quality.

For A Young Man, Sleep Is A Sure Solvent Of Distress. There Whirls Not For Him In The Night Any So Hideous Phantasmagoria As Will Not Become, In The Clarity Of The Next Morning, A Spruce Procession For Him To Lead. Brief The Vague Horror Of His Awakening; Memory Sweeps Back To Him, And He Sees Nothing Dreadful After All. "why Not?" Is The Sun's Bright Message To Him, And "why Not Indeed?" His Answer.

Have You Noticed ... There Is Never Any Third Act In A Nightmare? They Bring You To A Climax Of Terror And Then Leave You There. They Are The Work Of Poor Dramatists.

The Hospitable Instinct Is Not Wholly Altruistic. There Is Pride And Egoism Mixed Up With It.

For People Who Like That Kind Of Thing, This Is The Kind Of Thing They Like.