Guilt is more commonly felt by the innocent than by the culpable.

Children are always ready to believe that adult catastrophes are their fault.

It is difficult to be generous-minded to those we have greatly harmed.

Perhaps it's only when people are dead that we can safely show how much we cared about them. We know that it's too late then for them to do anything about it.

It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.

Time didn't heal$$$ but it anesthetized. The human mind could only feel so much.

As a journalist$$$ one tends to think there's nothing off limits.

If you are vulnerable economically$$$ you are vulnerable all along the line.

I yield to no man in sympathy for the gallant men under my command; but I am obliged to sweat them tonight$$$ that I may save their blood tomorrow.

In the country of the story$$$ the writer is king.