To Offend Is My Pleasure; I Love

To Joke In The Face Of Danger Is The Supreme Politeness, A Delicate Refusal To Cast Oneself As A Tragic Hero.

My Heart Always Timidly Hides Itself Behind My Mind. I Set Out To Bring Down Stars From The Sky, Then, For Fear Of Ridicule, I Stop And Pick Little Flowers Of Eloquence.

I Sing, Not To Hear The Echo Repeat, A Shade Fainter, My Song! I Think Of Light And Not Of Glory! Singing Is My Fashion Of Waging War And Bearing Witness. And If My Song Is The Proudest Of Songs, It Is That I Sing Clearly To Make The Day Rise Clear!

A Kiss Is A Secret Which Takes The Lips For The Ear.

Where Lurk Sweet Echoes Of The Dear Homevoices, Each Note Of Which Calls Like A Little Sister, Those Airs Slow, Slow Ascending, As The Smokewreaths Rise From The Hearthstones Of Our Native Hamlets Cyrano Act 5.