Men Travel Faster Now, But I Do

Old Men Are Like That, You Know. It Makes Them Feel Important To Think They Are In Love With Somebody.

That Is Happiness; To Be Dissolved Into Something Complete And Great.

It Is Scarcely Exaggeration To Say That If One Is Not A Little Mad About Balzac At Twenty, One Will Never Live; And If At Forty One Can Still Take Rastignac And Lucien De Rubempre At Balzac's Own Estimate, One Has Lived In Vain.

Art, It Seems To Me, Should Simplify.

There Are Only Two Or Three Human Stories, And They Go On Repeating Themselves As Fiercely As If They Had Never Happened Before.