To Live Is In Itself A Value

In Default Of Inexhaustible Happiness, Eternal Suffering Would At Least Give Us A Destiny. But We Do Not Even Have That Consolation, And Our Worst Agonies Come To An End One Day.

Love Is The Kind Of Illness That Does Not Spare The Intelligent Or The Dull.

Men Die And They Are Not Happy.

A Person I Knew Used To Divide Human Beings Into Three Categories: Those Who Prefer To Have Nothing To Hide Rather Than Being Obliged To Lie, Those Who Prefer Lying To Having Nothing To Hide, And Finally Those Who Like Both Lying And The Hidden.

Myths Are Made For The Imagination To Breath Life Into Them.