No Taste Is So Acquired As That

The Friendships Which Last Are Those Wherein Each Friend Respects The Other's Dignity To The Point Of Not Really Wanting Anything From Him.

Our Memories Are Card Indexes Consulted And Then Returned In Disorder By Authorities Whom We Do Not Control.

Like Those Crabs Which Dress Themselves With Seaweed, We Wear Belief And Custom.

The Artist Secretes Nostalgia Around Life.

The Man Who Is Master Of His Passions Is Reason's Slave.