I Shall Need To Sleep Three Weeks

Solitude Produces Originality, Bold And Astonishing Beauty, Poetry. But Solitude Also Produces Perverseness, The Disproportianate, The Absurd And The Forbidden.

Even In A Personal Sense, After All, Art Is An Intensified Life. By Art One Is More Deeply Satisfied And More Rapidly Used Up. It Engraves On The Countenance Of Its Servant The Traces Of Imaginary And Intellectual Adventures, And Even If He Has Outwardly Existed In Cloistral Tranquility, It Leads In The Long Term To Overfastidiousness, Over-refinement, Nervous Fatigue And Overstimulation, Such As Can Seldom Result From A Life Of The Most Extravagant Passions And Pleasures.

This Was Love At First Sight, Love Everlasting: A Feeling Unknown, Unhoped For, Unexpected--in So Far As It Could Be A Matter Of Conscious Awareness; It Took Entire Possession Of Him, And He Understood, With Joyous Amazement, That This Was For Life.

We Don't Love Qualities, We Love Persons; Sometimes By Reason Of Their Defects As Well As Of Their Qualities.

A Man’s Dying Is More The Survivors’ Affair Than His Own.