Sorrow Is A Fruit. God Does Not

Be Happy Without Picking Flaws.

The Death Agony Of The Barricade Was About To Begin.for, Since The Preceding Evening, The Two Rows Of Houses In The Rue De La Chanvrerie Had Become Two Walls; Ferocious Walls, Doors Closed, Windows Closed, Shutters Closed. A House Is An Escarpment, A Door Is A Refusal, A Facade Is A Wall. This Wall Hears, Sees And Will Not. It Might Open And Save You. No. This Wall Is A Judge. It Gazes At You And Condemns You. What Dismal Things Are Closed Houses.

In The Domain Of Art There Is No Light Without Heat.

When People Look Back At Their Childhood Or Youth, Their Wistfulness Comes From The Memory, Not Of What Their Lives Had Been In Those Years, But Of What Life Had Then Promised To Be. The Expectation Of Some Indefinable Splendor, Of The Unusual, The Exciting, The Great Is An Attribute Of Youth And The Process Of Aging Is The Process Of That Expectations' Gradual Extinction. One Does Not Have To Let It Happen. But That Fire Dies For Lack Of Fuel, Under The Gray Weight Of Disappointments.

...the Girls Chirped And Chatted Like Uncaged Warblers. They Were Delirious With Joy... Intoxications Of Life’s Morning! Enchanted Years! The Wing Of A Dragonfly Trembles! Oh, Reader, Whoever You May Be, Do You Have Such Memories? Have You Walked In The Underbrush, Pushing Aside Branches For The Charming Head Behind You? Have You Slid Laughing, Down Some Slope Wet With Rain, With The Woman You Loved?