Sometimes I Think Of Paris Not As

Writers Do Not Live One Life, They Live Two. There Is The Living And Then There Is The Writing. There Is The Second Tasting, The Delayed Reaction.

Nature Forms Us For Ourselves, Not For Others; To Be, Not To Seem.

All That Is Sacred And Taboo In The World Are Meaningless.

Beware Of Allowing A Tactless Word, A Rebuttal, A Rejection To Obliterate The Whole Sky

What Is Love But Acceptance Of The Other, Whatever He Is.