No One Ever Discovers The Depths Of

[p]ride Has No Intrinsic Substance, Being No More Than The Name Given To The Soul Devouring Itself. When That Loathsome Perversion Of Love Has Borne Its Fruit, It Has Another, More Meaningful And Weightier Name. We Call It Hatred.

Civilization Exists Precisely So That There May Be No Masses But Rather Men Alert Enough Never To Constitute Masses.

What A Cunning Mixture Of Sentiment, Pity, Tenderness, Irony Surrounds Adolescence, What Knowing Watchfulness! Young Birds On Their First Flight Are Hardly So Hovered Around.

All Her Life She [chantal] Had Been Carefully, Heroically Watching Over Mediocre Beings Who Were Hardly Real, Over Things Of No Value.

The First Sign Of Corruption In A Society That Is Still Alive Is That The End Justifies The Means.