You Must Be Either The Servant Or

The Fine Emotions Whence Our Lives We Mold Lie In The Earthly Tumult Dumb And Cold.

In Every Artist There Is A Touch Of Audacity Without Which No Talent Is Conceivable.

When You Lose Interest In Anything, You Also Lose The Memory For It.

The Evil One Has Left, The Evil Ones Remain.

We Lay Aside Letters Never To Read Them Again, And At Last We Destroy Them Out Discretion, And So Disappears The Most Immediate Breath Of Life, Irrecoverably For Ourselves And For Others.