Poems List
No such thing as a man willing to be honest—that would he like a blind man willing to see.
Now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the “well-rounded man.” This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.
Once a change of direction has begun, even though it’s the wrong one, it still tends to clothe itself as thoroughly in the appurtenances of rightness as if it had been a natural all along.
Once I thought that Lake Forest was the most glamorous place in the world. Maybe it was.
One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or of the sight of an eye. We may not miss them, either, for one minute in a year, but if we should there is nothing to be done about it.
Optimism is the content of small men in high places. F.
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Premature success gives one an almost mystical conception of destiny as opposed to will power—at its worst the Napoleonic delusion.
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Reporting the extreme things as if they were the average things will start you on the art of fiction.
Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope.
Riches have never fascinated me, unless combined with the greatest charm or distinction.
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