Even As A Child I Felt In

There Exist Only Three Beings Worthy Of Respect: The Priest, The Soldier, The Poet. To Know, To Kill, To Create.

In Literature As In Ethics, There Is Danger, As Well As Glory, In Being Subtle. Aristocracy Isolates Us.

A Book Is A Garden, A Party, A Company By The Way.

Nearly All Our Originality Comes From The Stamp That Time Impresses Upon Our Sensibility.

Evil Is Committed Without Effort, Naturally, Fatally; Goodness Is Always The Product Of Some Art.