Do Not Think Your Truth Can Be

The Itch Is A Mean, Unconfessable, Ridiculous Malady; One Can Pity Someone Who Is Suffering ; Someone Who Wants To Scratch Himself Makes One Laugh.

Be Faithful To That Which Exists Nowhere But In Yourself- And Thus Make Yourself Indispensable.

The Sole Art That Suits Me Is That Which, Rising From Unrest, Tends Toward Serenity.

Enduring Fame Is Promised Only To Those Writers Who Can Offer To Successive Generations A Substance Constantly Renewed; For Every Generation Arrives Upon The Scene With Its Own Particular Hunger.

Nothing Is More Fatal To Happiness Than The Remembrance Of Happiness.