I Have To Confess That I Had

Anybody, Providing He Knows How To Be Amusing, Has The Right To Talk About Himself.

The Man Who Is Unable To People His Solitude Is Equally Unable To Be Alone In A Bustling Crowd. The Poet Enjoys The Incomparable Privilege Of Being Able To Be Himself Or Some One Else, As He Chooses. [...] The Solitary And Thoughtful Stroller Finds A Singular Intoxication In This Universal Communion. [...] What Men Call Love Is A Very Small, Restricted, Feeble Thing Compared With This Ineffable Orgy, This Divine Prostitution Of The Soul Giving Itself Entire...to The Unexpected As It Comes Along, The Stranger As He Passes.

Genius Is Simply Childhood, Rediscovered By An Act Of Will.

The Study Of Beauty Is A Duel In Which The Artist Cries Out In Terror Before He Is Defeated.

The Habit Of Doing One's Duty Drives Away Fear.