The World Only Goes Round By Misunderstanding.

The Idea Which Man Forms Of Beauty Imprints Itself Throughout His Attire, Rumples Or Stiffens His Garments, Rounds Off Or Aligns His Gestures, And, Finally, Even Subtly Penetrates The Features Of His Face.

There Exist Only Three Beings Worthy Of Respect: The Priest, The Soldier, The Poet. To Know, To Kill, To Create.

I Love The Clouds... The Clouds That Pass By... Over There... Over There... Those Lovely Clouds!

What A Mysterious Faculty Is That Queen Of The Faculties!

There Is No More Steely Barb Than That Of The Infinite.