The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret; we make up our minds every night to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every morning to keep it late.
I claim there ain't Another Saint As great as Valentine.
Remorse is a violent dyspepsia of the mind.
A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of.
Oh, what a tangled web do parents weave when they think that their children are naive.
Middle age is when you're sitting at home on a Saturday night and the telephone rings and you hope it isn't for you.
