Two In Distressmake Sorrow Less.

Enough Of Acting The Infant Who Has Been Told So Often How He Was Found Under A Cabbage That In The End He Remembers The Exact Spot In The Garden And The Kind Of Life He Led There Before Joining The Family Circle.

Art Has Nothing To Do With Clarity, Does Not Dabble In The Clear And Does Not Make Clear

I Have Nothing But Wastes And Wilds Of Self-translation Before Me For Many Miserable Months To Come.

He Who Has Waited Long Enough, Will Wait Forever. And There Comes The Hour When Nothing More Can Happen And Nobody More Can Come And All Is Ended But The Waiting That Knows Itself In Vain.

Do They [the Publishers Of Murphy] Not Understand That If The Book Is Slightly Obscure It Is Because It Is A Compression And Thatto Compress It Further Can Only Make It More Obscure?