Never Confide Your Secrets To Paper; It

Our Treasures Trifles Seem, And All Our Life Is Dreaming, And The Dreams Themselves Are Dreams.

Never Confide Your Secrets To Paper; It Is Like Throwing A Stone In The Air; And If You Know Who Throws The Stone, You Do Not Know Where It May Fall.

No Windows Give A Better View Than Those A Man Brings With Him In His Head, Not Asking For Tickets Of Admission, Since At All Functions, Festivals, Or Feasts He Looks Out With The Same Nice Self-composure.

Great Events Have Sent Before Them Their Announcements.

What Is Life? A Madness. What Is Life? An Illusion, A Shadow, A Story. And The Greatest Good Is Little Enough: For All Life Is A Dream, And Dreams Themselves Are Only Dreams.