It Is No Doubt Possible To Fly--but

He Who Knows Not How To Plant His Will In Things At Least Endows Them With Some Meaning: That Is To Say, He Believes That A Will Is Already Present In Them (a Principle Of Faith.)

We Have No Organ At All For Knowledge, For Truth: We Know (or Believe Or Imagine) Precisely As Much As May Be Useful In The Interest Of The Human Herd, The Species: And Even What Is Here Called Usefulness Is In The End Only A Belief, Something Imagined And Perhaps Precisely That Most Fatal Piece Of Stupidity By Which We Shall One Day Perish.

Love As A Passion—it Is Our European Specialty—must Absolutely Be Of Noble Origin; As Is Well Known, Its Invention Is Due To The Provencal Poet-cavaliers, Those Brilliant, Ingenious Men Of The "gai Saber," To Whom Europe Owes So Much, And Almost Owes Itself.

Marriage Marks The End Of Many Short Follies - Being One Long Stupidity.

All I Need Is A Sheet Of Paper And Something To Write With, And Then I Can Turn The World Upside Down.