Write, Write, Write-till Your Fingers Break.

A Fiancé Is Neither This Nor That: He's Left One Shore, But Not Yet Reached The Other.

All Saints Have Past And All Sinners Have A Future.

Don't Tell Me The Moon Is Shining; Show Me The Glint Of Light On Broken Glass.

There Are Plenty Of Good People, But Only A Very, Very Few Are Precise And Disciplined.

The Bourgeoisie Is Very Fond Of So-called Practical Types And Novels With Happy Endings, Since They Soothe It With The Idea That One Can Both Accumulate Capital And Preserve Innocence, Be A Beast And At The Same Time Be Happy...