My Foregrounds Are Imaginary, My Backgrounds Real.

But Some Day Sooner Or Later Our Passion Would Have Cooled - Inevitably - It's The Way With Everything Human.

In The Dark Room A Cloud Of Yellow Dust Flew From Beneath The Tool Like A Scatter Of Sparks From Under The Hooves Of A Galloping Horse. The Twin Wheels Turned And Hummed. Binet Was Smiling, His Chin Down, His Nostrils Distended. He Seemed Lost In The Kind Of Happiness Which, As A Rule, Accompanies Only Those Mediocre Occupations That Tickle The Intelligence With Easy Difficulties, And Satisfy It With A Sense Of Achievement Beyond Which There Is Nothing Left For Dreams To Feed On.

(egypt) Is A Great Place For Contrasts: Splendid Things Gleam In The Dust.

A Superhuman Will Is Needed In Order To Write, And I Am Only A Man.

Travel Makes One Modest. You See What A Tiny Place You Occupy In The World.