Beautiful December Grapes, Blue As Plums, Every

Books, Books, Books. It Was Not That I Read So Much. I Read And Re-read The Same Ones. But All Of Them Were Necessary To Me. Their Presence, Their Smell, The Letters Of Their Titles, And The Texture Of Their Leather Bindings.

The Faults Of Husbands Are Often Caused By The Excess Virtues Of Their Wives.

If He's Getting Married, He's Not Longer Interesting.

I Believe There Are More Urgent And Honorable Occupations Than The Incomparable Waste Of Time We Call Suffering.

Voluptuaries, Consumed By Their Senses, Always Begin By Flinging Themselves With A Great Display Of Frenzy Into An Abyss. But They Survive, They Come To The Surface Again. And They Develop A Routine Of The Abyss: It's Four O Clock. At Five I Have My Abyss.