The Kiss Itself Is Immortal. It Travels

History, That Excitable And Unreliable Old Lady.

I Entered Literary Life As A Meteor, And I Shall Leave It Like A Thunderbolt.

It Is The Lives We Encounter That Make Life Worth Living.

War! When I But Think Of This Word, I Feel Bewildered, As Though They Were Speaking To Me Of Sorcery, Of The Inquisition, Of A Distant, Finished, Abominable, Monstrous, Unnatural Thing. When They Speak To Us Of Cannibals, We Smile Proudly, As We Proclaim Our Superiority To These Savages. Who Are The Real Savages? Those Who Struggle In Order To Eat Those Whom They Vanquish, Or Those Who Struggle Merely To Kill?

Champagne... The Wine Of Kings, The King Of Wines