The Desire To Believe The Best Of

As Subjects, We All Live In Suspense, From Day To Day, From Hour To Hour; In Other Words, We Are The Hero Of Our Own Story. We Cannot Believe That It Is Finished, That We Are 'finished,' Even Though We May Say So; We Expect Another Chapter, Another Installment, Tomorrow Or Next Week.

We Are The Hero Of Our Own Story.

The Desire To Believe The Best Of People Is A Prerequisite For Intercourse With Strangers; Suspicion Is Reserved For Friends.

Every Age Has A Keyhole To Which Its Eye Is Pasted. Spicy Court-memoirs, The Lives Of Gallant Ladies, Recollections Of An Ex-nun, A Monk's Confession, An Atheist's Repentance, True-to-life Accounts Of Prostitution And Bastardy Gave Our Ancestors A Penny Peep Into The Forbidden Room.

I Shall Never Send For A Priest Or Recite An Act Of Contrition In My Last Moments. I Do Not Mind If I Lose My Soul For All Eternity. If The Kind Of God Exists Who Would Damn Me For Not Working Out A Deal With Him, Then That Is Unfortunate. I Should Not Care To Spend Eternity In The Company Of Such A Person.