Be My Brother Or I Will Kill

Marriage, As Practised By High Society, Is Arranged Indecency.

The Philosopher Who Would Fain Extinguish His Passions Resembles The Chemist Who Would Like To Let His Furnace Go Out.

Life Is A Malady In Which Sleep Soothes Us Every Sixteen Hours; It Is A Palliation; Death Is The Remedy.

Love Is More Pleasant Than Marriage For The Same Reason That Novels Are More Amusing Than History.

Sometimes Apparent Resemblance Of Character Will Bring Two Men Together And For A Certain Time Unite Them. But Their Mistake Gradually Becomes Evident, And They Are Astonished To Find Themselves Not Only Far Apart, But Even Repelled, In Some Sort, At All Their Points Of Contact.