When Men Make Themselves Into Brutes It

All Changes Are More Or Less Tinged With Melancholy, For What We Are Leaving Behind Is Part Of Ourselves.

The Nighttime Of The Body Is The Daytime Of The Soul.

... If Fiction Does Not Show Us A Better Life Than Reality, What Is The Good Of It?

Death Is Like The Setting Of The Sun. The Sun Never Sets; Life Never Ceases. ... We Think The Sun Sets, And It Never Ceases Shining; We Think Our Friends Die, And They Never Cease Living.

It Is Little Men Know Of Women; Their Smiles And Their Tears Alike Are Seldom What They Seem.