Nature Has Made A Pebble And A

The World Of Sleep Has An Existence Of Its Own.

Style Is The Substance Of The Subject Called Unceasingly To The Surface.

At The Moment When Her Eyes Closed, When All Feeling Vanished In Her, She Thought That She Felt A Touch Of Fire Imprinted On Her Lips, A Kiss More Burning Than The Red-hot Iron Of The Executioner.

It Is Not So Easy To Keep Silent When The Silence Is A Lie.

We Are Reassured Almost As Foolishly As We Are Alarmed; Human Nature Is So Constituted.