To What A Degree The Same Past

What Would There Be In A Story Of Happiness? Only What Prepares It, Only What Destroys It Can Be Told.

The Work Of Art Is The Exaggeration Of An Idea.

Families, I Hate You! Shut-in Homes, Closed Doors, Jealous Possessors Of Happiness

One Does Not Discover New Lands Without Consenting To Lose Sight Of The Shore For A Very Long Time.

Life Never Presents Us With Anything Which May Not Be Looked Upon As A Fresh Starting Point, No Less Than As A Termination.