He Who Is Not Capable Of Enduring

How Did It Happen That Their Lips Came Together? How Does It Happen That Birds Sing, That Snow Melts, That The Rose Unfolds, That The Dawn Whitens Behind The Stark Shapes Of Trees On The Quivering Summit Of The Hill? A Kiss, And All Was Said.

We Are Not Loved By Our Friends For What We Are; Rather, We Are Loved In Spite Of What We Are.

Jean Prouvaire Was Timid Only In Repose. Once Excited, He Burst Forth, A Sort Of Mirth Accentuated His Enthusiasm, And He Was At Once Both Laughing And Lyric.

There Are Plenty Who Regard A Wall Behind Which Something Is Happening As A Very Curious Thing.

In The Domain Of Art There Is No Light Without Heat.