The More One Judges, The Less One

In The Silence Of Their Studios, Busied For Days At A Time With Works Which Leave The Mind Relatively Free, Painters Become Like Women; Their Thoughts Can Revolve Around The Minor Facts Of Life And Penetrate Their Hidden Meaning.

No Woman Has Ever Existed Who Did Not Know Perfectly Well In Her Heart What To Expect From The Superiority Or Inferiority Of A Rival.

Holding This Book In Your Hand, Sinking Back In Your Soft Armchair, You Will Say To Yourself: Perhaps It Will Amuse Me. And After You Have Read This Story Of Great Misfortunes, You Will No Doubt Dine Well, Blaming The Author For Your Own Insensitivity, Accusing Him Of Wild Exaggeration And Flights Of Fancy. But Rest Assured: This Tragedy Is Not A Fiction. All Is True.

For The Person Who Loves God, Worship Is The Daily Bread Of Patience.

God Is The Author, Men Are Only The Players. These Grand Pieces Which Are Played Upon Earth Have Been Composed In Heaven.