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In bridge clubs and in councils of state, the passions are the same.
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To confer dignity, forgive. To express contempt, forget.
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Writers mean more than they say and say more than they mean.
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The gods are watching, but idly, yawning.
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Documents create a paper reality we call proof.
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Journalism never admits that nothing much is happening.
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When I prayed for success, I forgot to ask for sound sleep and good digestion.
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Self-reform is the only kind that works.
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Scepticism is always a back road leading to some credo or other.
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Taste refers to the past, imagination to the future.
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Only the broken-hearted know the truth about love.
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A sense of blessedness comes from a change of heart, not from more blessings.
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If we think about the obvious long enough, it dissolves.
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The time I kill is killing me.
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Reputation runs behind the current state of affairs.
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Logic and fact keep interfering with the easy flow of conversation.
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Money: power at its most liquid.
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It is possible to interpret without observing, but not to observe without interpreting.
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Talk about yourself as much as you like, but do not expect others to listen.
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Fastidious taste makes enjoyment a struggle.
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The man of sensibility is too busy talking about his feelings to have time for good deeds.
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The aim of literary ambition is to demonstrate one's greatness of soul.
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Totem poles and wooden masks no longer suggest tribal villages but fashionable drawing rooms in New York and Paris.
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The man in the street is always a stranger.