Books Follow Morals, And Not Morals Books.

The Years I Have Squandered In Puerile Excitement, In Going Hither And Thither, In Seeking To Force Nature And Time, I Ought To Have Spent In Solitude And Meditation, In Endeavoring To Make Myself Worthy Of Being Loved.

Sometimes He Sits At Your Feet Looking Into Your Face With An Expression So Gentle And Caressing That The Depth Of His Gaze Startles You.

To Love Is To Admire With The Heart; To Admire Is To Love With The Mind.

I Am A Man For Whom The Outside World Exists.

Art Is Beauty, The Perpetual Invention Of Detail, The Choice Of Words, The Exquisite Care Of Execution.