Love Always Has Its Price, Come Whence

If I Could, I Would Stop The Passage Of Time. But Hour Follows On Hour, Minute On Minute, Each Second Robbing Me Of A Morsel Of Myself For The Nothing Of Tomorrow. I Shall Never Experience This Moment Again.

There Are In France Some Fifty Thousand Young Men Of Good Birth And Fairly Well Off Who Are Encouraged To Live A Life Of Complete Idleness. They Must Either Cease To Exist Or Must Come To See That There Can Be No Happiness, No Health Even, Without Regular Daily Labor Of Some Sort... The Need Of Work Is In Me.

Of All The Passions, The Only One That Seems Respectable To Me Is The Passion For Food

...a Strange Art – Music – The Most Poetic And Precise Of All The Arts, Vague As A Dream And Precise As Algebra.

The Essence Of Life Is The Smile Of Round Female Bottoms, Under The Shadow Of Cosmic Boredom.