One Of The Troubles Is This: The

I Hate The Way The English Have Of Not Being Serious About Being Serious, I Really Hate It.

The Spring Of 1930 Marks The End Of A Period Of Grave Concern...american Business Is Steadily Coming Back To A Normal Level Of Prosperity.

[literature Is] A Process Of Producing Grand, Beautiful, Well-ordered Lies That Tell More Truth Than Any Assemblage Of Facts.

Is Despair Wrong? Isn’t It The Natural Condition Of Life After A Certain Age? … After A Number Of Events, What Is There Left But Repetition And Diminishment? Who Wants To Go On Living? The Eccentric, The Religious, The Artistic (sometimes); Those With A False Sense Of Their Own Worth. Soft Cheeses Collapse; Firm Cheeses Endurate. Both Go Mouldy.

And No, It Wasn't Shame I Now Felt, Or Guilt, But Something Rarer In My Life And Stronger Than Both: Remorse. A Feeling Which Is More Complicated, Curdled, And Primeval. Whose Chief Characteristic Is That Nothing Can Be Done About It: Too Much Time Has Passed, Too Much Damage Has Been Done, For Amends To Be Made.