Literature Has Become My Life.

Well, As Everyone Knows, Once Witchcraft Gets Started, There's No Stopping It.

A Dog's Spirit Dies Hard.

Cowardice Is The Most Terrible Of Vices.

The Darkness That Had Come In From The Mediterranean Covered The City So Detested By The Procurator.

What's The Use Of Dying In A Ward Surrounded By A Lot Of Groaning And Croaking Incurables? Wouldn't It Be Much Better To Throw A Party With That Twenty-seven Thousand And Take Poison And Depart For The Other World To The Sound Of Violins, Surrounded By Lovely Drunken Girls And Happy Friends?