I had managed to bring up my grades in composition just before the end of my sixth grade year after Mr. Constantino, my comp teacher, called my Mother and informed her I was on the verge of flunking; […]

I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die.

Mr. Coffey does not tell us whether he accomplished this admirable stabilization of his avoirdupois by exercising, by calorizing, or by reading James Joyce.

I get algebra, but calculus eludes me.