Exuberance Is Better Than Taste.

A Friend Who Dies, It's Something Of You Who Dies.

One Arrives At Style Only With Atrocious Effort, With Fanatical And Devoted Stubbornness.

She Was The Amoureuse Of All The Novels, The Heroine Of All The Plays, The Vague “she” Of All The Poetry Books.

There Was An Air Of Indifference About Them, A Calm Produced By The Gratification Of Every Passion; And Through Their Manners Were Suave, One Could Sense Beneath Them That Special Brutality Which Comes From The Habit Of Breaking Down Half-hearted Resistances That Keep One Fit And Tickle One’s Vanity—the Handling Of Blooded Horses, The Pursuit Of Loose Women.

There Are Three Thing In The World I Love Most: The Sea, Hamlet, And Don Giovanni.