ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS:
A sort of chuckle not entirely pleasant
Adaptability was his greatest weapon in life
Being tired you can sleep, and in sleep you can forget
Cling to beliefs long after conviction has been shattered
Egotism with which all are diseased
Egregious egotism of young love there are only two identities
Follow me; if I retreat, kill me; if I fall, avenge me
Futility of goodness, the futility of all
He felt things, he did not study them
Her voice had the steadiness of despair
If women hadn’t memory, she answered, they wouldn’t have much
It is not the broken heart that kills, but broken pride
It is easy to repent when our pleasures have palled
It’s the people who try to be clever who never are
Joy of a confessional which relieves the sick heart
Kissed her twice on the cheek—the first time in fifteen years
Knew the lie of silence to be as evil as the lie of speech
Lilt of existence lulling to sleep wisdom and tried experience
Lonely we come into the world, and lonely we go out of it
Never to be content with superficial reasons and the obvious
No news—no trouble
Often, we would rather be hurt than hurt
People who are clever never think of trying to be
Queer that things which hurt most can’t be punished by law
Rack of secrecy, the cruelest inquisition of life
Sacrifice to the god of the pin-hole
Sardonic pleasure in the miseries of the world
Sympathy, with curiousness in their eyes and as much inhumanity
Thanked him in her heart for the things he had left unsaid
There was never a grey wind but there’s a greyer
There is something humiliating in even an undeserved injury
Uses up your misery and makes you tired (Work)
War is cruelty, and none can make it gentle
We care so little for real justice
What fools there are in the world