Certain Books Come To Meet Me, As

Without Fiction, Either Life Would Be Insufficient Or The Winds From The North Would Blow Too Cold.

On The Subject Of Dress Almost No One, For One Or Another Reason, Feels Truly Indifferent: If Their Own Clothes Do Not Concern Them, Somebody Else's Do.

The Paradox Of Romantic Love -- That What One Possesses, One Can No Longer Desire -- Was At Work.

Fate Is Not An Eagle, It Creeps Like A Rat.

Very Young People Are True But Not Resounding Instruments.