Everything Being A Constant Carnival, There Is

The Soul Has Illusions As The Bird Has Wings: It Is Supported By Them.

To Meditate Is To Labour; To Think Is To Act.

The Cruel Of Heart Have Their Own Black Happiness.

Paris Is A Sum Total. Paris Is The Ceiling Of The Human Race. All This Prodigious City Is An Epitome Of Dead And Living Manners And Customs. He Who Sees Paris, Seems To See All History Through With The Sky And Constellations In The Intervals.

In The Opera We Call Love, The Libretto Is Almost Nothing.