Art Speaks Only To The Mind, Whereas

The Beauty That Addresses Itself To The Eyes Is Only The Spell Of The Moment; The Eye Of The Body Is Not Always That Of The Soul.

Gossiping Is The Plague Of Little Towns.

I Regard As A Mortal Sin Not Only The Lying Of The Senses In Matters Of Love, But Also The Illusion Which The Senses Seek To Create Where Love Is Only Partial. I Say, I Believe, That One Must Love With All Of One's Being, Or Else Live, Come What May, A Life Of Complete Chastity.

I'm Beginning To Believe That There Are Angels Disguised As Men Who Pass Themselves Off As Such And Who Inhabit The Earth For A While To Console And Lift Up With Them Toward Heaven The Poor, Exhausted And Saddened Souls Who Were Ready To Perish Here Below.

...je N’ai Pas Cessé De L’être Si C’est D’être Jeune Que D’aimer Toujours !... L’humanité N’est Pas Un Vain Mot. Notre Vie Est Faite D’amour, Et Ne Plus Aimer C’est Ne Plus Vivre." (i Have Never Ceased To Be Young, If Being Young Is Always Loving... Humanity Is Not A Vain Word. Our Life Is Made Of Love, And To Love No Longer Is To Live No Longer.)