A Monster Which Devours Everything - That

Women Are Tenacious, And All Of Them Should Be Tenacious Of Respect; Without Esteem They Cannot Exist; Esteem Is The First Demand That They Make Of Love.

In Paris, When Certain People See You Ready To Set Your Foot In The Stirrup, Some Pull Your Coat-tails, Others Loosen The Buckle Of The Strap That You May Fall And Crack Your Skull; One Wrenches Off Your Horse's Shoes, Another Steals Your Whip, And The Least Treacherous Of Them All Is The Man Whom You See Coming To Fire His Pistol At You Point Blank.

Some Troubles, Like A Protested Note Of A Solvent Debtor, Bear Interest.

A Penniless Man Who Has No Ties To Bind Him Is Master Of Himself At Any Rate, But A Luckless Wretch Who Is In Love No Longer Belongs To Himself, And May Not Take His Own Life. Love Makes Us Almost Sacred In Our Own Eyes; It Is The Life Of Another That We Revere Within Us; Then And So Begins For Us The Cruelest Trouble Of All.

If The Artist Does Not Fling Himself, Without Reflecting, Into His Work, As Curtis Flung Himself Into The Yawning Gulf, As The Soldier Flings Himself Into The Enemy's Trenches, And If, Once In This Crater, He Does Not Work Like A Miner On Whom The Walls Of His Gallery Have Fallen In; If He Contemplates Difficulties Instead Of Overcoming Them One By One ... He Is Simply Looking On At The Suicide Of His Own Talent.