We Live In Stirring Times- Tea-stirring Times.

The Sea Only Drowns Its Lovers.

I'm Like A Book You Have To Read. A Book Can't Read Itself To You. It Doesn't Even Know What It's About. I Don't Know What I'm About.

In The Eternal Lazy Morning Of The Pacific, Days Slip Away Into Months, Months Into Years; The Seasons Are Reduced To The Faintest Nuance By The Great Central Fact Of The Sunshine; One Might Pass A Lifetime, It Seems, Between Two Yawns, Lying Bronzed And Naked In The Sand.

A Minority Is Only Thought Of As A Minority When It Constitutes Some Kind Of Threat To The Majority, Real Or Imaginary. And No Threat Is Ever Quite Imaginary.

She Is Sighing Deeply Now With Sympathy And Delight - The Delight Of An Addict When Someone Else Admits He's Hooked, Too.