One of the most beautiful passages of Rousseau is that in the sixth book of Confessions where he describes the awakening in him of the literary sense. Of such wisdom the poetic passion the desire of beauty the love of art for its own sake has most.
I had a monumental idea this morning but I didn't like it.
The harder I work the luckier I get.
Don't worry about the war. It's all over but the shooting.
I want everyone to tell me the truth even if it costs him his job.
By Thursday morning, we'd gotten over the worst of it.
I don't hate L.A., but I'm nervous about becoming one of those people who...
I knew however that the next morning after the fight I would have to get...
