To Drink Is A Small Matter. To

Do Not Trust Your Memory; It Is A Net Full Of Holes; The Most Beautiful Prizes Slip Through It.

We Can Know Nothing Till After This Grave Debate. The Soul Must Withdraw, For This Is Not Its Hour. Now The Knife Must Divide The Flesh, And Lay The Ravage Bare, And Do Its Work Completely.

Courtesy Is Not Dead - It Has Merely Taken Refuge In Great Britain.

Suffering Has Roused Them From The Sleep Of Gentle Life, And Every Day Fills Them With A Terrible Intoxication. They Are Now Something More Than Themselves; Those We Loved Were Merely Happy Shadows.

I Can No Longer Think What I Want To Think. My Thoughts Have Been Replaced By Moving Images.