The Past Is A Work Of Art,

For A Young Man, Sleep Is A Sure Solvent Of Distress. There Whirls Not For Him In The Night Any So Hideous Phantasmagoria As Will Not Become, In The Clarity Of The Next Morning, A Spruce Procession For Him To Lead. Brief The Vague Horror Of His Awakening; Memory Sweeps Back To Him, And He Sees Nothing Dreadful After All. "why Not?" Is The Sun's Bright Message To Him, And "why Not Indeed?" His Answer.

I Prefer That Laughter Shall Take Me Unawares. Only So Can It Master And Dissolve Me.

No Roman Ever Was Able To Say, 'i Dined Last Night With The Borgias'.

A Hundred Eyes Were Fixed On Her, And Half As Many Hearts Lost To Her.

The One Real Goal Of Education Is To Leave A Person Asking Questions.