No enemy is so annoying as one who was a friend, or still is a friend, and there are many more of these than one would suspect.

It is well that there is no one without a fault; for he would not have a friend in the world

Who is mighty? One who makes an enemy into a friend

This is New York and there's no law against being annoying

Is the small town a place, truly, of the world, or is it no more than something out of a boy's dreaming? Out of his love of all things not of death made? All things somewhere beyond the dust, rust, and decay, beyond the top, beyond all sides, beyond bottom: outside, around, over, under, within?

There could be no extreme vanity in my recognition of myself, if in fact there could be any at all.