Journalists Grow Accustomed To Seeing Evil And

The Greater A Man's Talents, The More Marked His Idiosyncracies. Yet In The Provinces Originality Is Considered Perilously Close To Lunacy.

Only When One Has Learned To Acknowledge That Wiser Minds Have Made Better Words To Come Out Of Our Mouths May We Truly, Then, Begin To Speak Them.

For Pain Is Perhaps But A Violent Pleasure? Who Could Determine The Point Where Pleasure Becomes Pain, Where Pain Is Still A Pleasure? Is Not The Utmost Brightness Of The Ideal World Soothing To Us, While The Lightest Shadows Of The Physical World Annoy?

Several Sorts Of Memory Exist In Us; Body And Mind Each Possesses One Peculiar To Itself. Nostalgia, For Instance, Is A Malady Of The Physical Memory.

Love Is A Game In Which One Always Cheats.