Miss My Daily Mass, And

The Superior Thing ... Was To Be Late. Lateness Showed That Serene Contempt For The Illusion We Call Time Which Is So Necessary To Ensure The Respect Of Others And Oneself. Only The Servile Are Punctual.

One Day I Shall Write A Little Book Of Conduct Myself, And I Shall Call It Social Problems Of The Unsociable. And The Root Problem, Beneath A Hundred Varying Manifestions, Is How To Escape. How To Escape, That Is, At Those Times, Be They Few Or Frequent, When You Want To Keep Yourself To Yourself.

To Be Prejudiced Is The Privilege Of The Thinking Human Being. ... The Open Mind Is The Empty Mind.

I Can Think Of Few Things More Disastrous Than Starting A New Correspondence With Any One. Letters Are A Burden Indeed ... They Seem Often The Last Straw That Breaks The Back ... You Should See The Piles Of Those That I Must Answer That Litter And Weight My Writing Table.

As To The Family, I Have Never Understood How That Fits In With The Other Ideals --or, Indeed, Why It Should Be An Ideal At All. A Group Of Closely Related Persons Living Under One Roof; It Is A Convenience, Often A Necessity, Sometimes A Pleasure, Sometimes The Reverse; But Who First Exalted It As Admirable, An Almost Religious Ideal?