The Masses Are Still Ungrateful Or Ignorant.

We Do Not Die Of Anguish, We Live On. We Continue To Suffer. We Drink The Cup Drop By Drop.

Masterpieces Are Only Lucky Attempts.

Weakness Is Oftentimes So Palpable As To Be Equivalent To Wickedness.

The Beauty That Addresses Itself To The Eyes Is Only The Spell Of The Moment; The Eye Of The Body Is Not Always That Of The Soul.

... When We Are Misunderstood It Is Always Our Own Fault. What The Reader Wants Most Of All Is To Be Able To Grasp What We Think; But You Loftily Refuse To Comply.