Sickness Sensitizes Man For Observation, Like A

I Have Always Derived Indescribable Pleasure From Leading A Decent Woman To The Edge Of Sin And Leaving Her There To Live Between The Temptation And The Fear Of That Sin.

Sickness Sensitizes Man For Observation, Like A Photographic Plate.

Today I Begin To Understand What Love Must Be, If It Exists... When We Are Parted, We Each Feel The Lack Of The Other Half Of Ourselves. We Are Incomplete Like A Book In Two Volumes Of Which The First Has Been Lost. That Is What I Imagine Love To Be: Incompleteness In Absence.

Historians Tell The Story Of The Past, Novelists The Story Of The Present.

Surely Nothing Has To Listen To So Many Stupid Remarks As A Painting In A Museum.