The Hour That Burst The Spirit's Sleep.

Everybody Needs His Memories. They Keep The Wolf Of Insignificance From The Door.

I Am Something Of A Crank About Sleep, For If I Get Seven And A Quarter Hours Instead Of Eight I Feel Afflicted And Drag Myself Around, Although There's Nothing Really Wrong With Me. It's Just Another Idea. That's How It Is With My Ideas; They Seem To Get Strong While I Weaken.

Everyone Tries To Create A World He Can Live In, And What He Can't Use He Often Can't See. But The Real World Is Already Created, And If Your Fabrication Doesn't Correspond, Then Even If You Feel Noble And Insist On There Being Something Better Than What People Call Reality, That Better Something Needn't Try To Exceed What, In Its Actuality, Since We Know It So Little, May Be Very Surprising. If A Happy State Of Things, Surprising; If Miserable Or Tragic, No Worse Than What We Invent.

There Are Evils That Have The Ability To Survive Identification And Go On For Ever... Money, For Instance, Or War.

Human Character Is Smaller Now, People Don't Have Durable Passions; They've Replaced Passions With Excitement.