There Is Love Of Course. And Then

Our Entire Life, With Our Fine Moral Code And Our Precious Freedom, Consists Ultimately In Accepting Ourselves As We Are.

Life Is Very Nice, But It Has No Shape. The Object Of Art Is Actually To Give It Some And To Do It By Every Artifice Possible-truer Than The Truth.

Death Is Beautiful. It Alone Gives Love Its True Habitat.

Tragedy Is Restful: And The Reason Is That Hope, That Foul, Deceitful Thing, Has No Part In It.

A Genius Knows How To Make Himself Easily Understood Without Being Obvious About It.