Despair is the price one pays for setting oneself an impossible aim

Despair is the price one pays for setting oneself an impossible aim. It is, one is told, the unforgivable sin, but it is a sin the corrupt or evil man never practices. He always has hope. He never reaches the freezing-point of knowing absolute failure. Only the man of goodwill carries always in his heart this capacity for damnation.

Hope was an instinct only the reasoning human mind could kill. An animal never knew despair.

Waste brings woe, and sorrow hates despair.

My two fingers on a typewriter have never connected with my brain. My hand on a pen does. A fountain pen, of course. Ball-point pens are only good for filling out forms on a plane.

That whisky priest, I wish we had never had him in the house.