Total Absence Of Humor Renders Life Impossible.

To Write Is To Pour One’s Innermost Self Passionately Upon The Tempting Paper, At Such Frantic Speed That Sometimes One’s Hand Struggles And Rebels, Overdriven By The Impatient God Which Guides It - And To Find, Next Day, In Place Of The Golden Bough That Bloomed Miraculously In That Dazzling Hour, A Withered Bramble And A Stunted Flower.

A Kindly Gesture Bestowed By Us On An Animal Arouses Prodigies Of Understanding And Gratitude.

The Day After That Wedding Night I Found That A Distance Of A Thousand Miles, Abyss And Discovery And Irremediable Metamorphosis, Separated Me From The Day Before.

That Lovely Voice; How I Should Weep For Joy If I Could Hear It Now!

I Want Nothing From Love, In Short, But Love.