Everyone Seems To Have A Clear Idea

You Have Two Types Of Writers: One Like Proust Who Was Locked In His Room And Wrote The Masterpiece. And The Other Type Was Hemingway Who Celebrated Life And Also Wrote A Masterpiece.

Only Those Who Find Life, Find Treasures.

You Can Only Know A Good Wine If You Have First Tasted A Bad One.

We Have Been Moving Along At Such A Fast Pace That We No Longer Know What We Are Doing. Now We Have To Wait Until Our Soul Catches Up With Us.

She Said She Was Neither Happy Nor Unhappy, And That Was Why She Couldn't Go On. Each Person Knows The Extent Of Their Own Suffering, Or The Total Absence Of Meaning In Their Lives.