A Man May Be Said To Love

Art Is The Sex Of The Imagination.

Like Everybody Else, When I Don't Know What Else To Do, I Seem To Go In For Catching Colds.

A Man Reserves His True And Deepest Love Not For The Species Of Woman In Whose Company He Finds Himself Electrified And Enkindled, But For That One In Whose Company He May Feel Tenderly Drowsy.

It May Be Said That Artist And Censor Differ In This Wise: That The First Is A Decent Mind In An Indecent Body And That The Second Is An Indecent Mind In A Decent Body.

The Notion That As A Man Grows Older His Illusions Leave Him Is Not Quite True. What Is True Is That His Early Illusions Are Supplanted By New, And To Him, Equally Convincing Illusions.