All The Forces In The World Are

Style Is The Substance Of The Subject Called Unceasingly To The Surface.

Women Play With Their Beauty As Children Do With Their Knives. They Wound Themselves With It.

Death Belongs To God Alone; By What Right Do Men Touch That Unknown Thing?

The Jostling Of Young Minds Against Each Other Has This Wonderful Attribute, That One Can Never Foresee The Spark, Nor Predict The Flash. What Will Spring Up In A Moment? Nobody Knows.

Great Griefs Exhaust. They Discourage Us With Life. The Man Into Whom They Enter Feels Something Taken From Him. In Youth, Their Visit Is Sad; Later On, It Is Ominous.