Despotism Is A Long Crime.

If A Writer Wrote Merely For His Time, I Would Have To Break My Pen And Throw It Away.

To Lie A Little Is Not Possible: He Who Lies, Lies The Whole Lie.

One Sees Qualities At A Distance And Defects At Close Range.

In The Opera We Call Love, The Libretto Is Almost Nothing.

In Winter There Is No Heat, No Light, No Noon, Evening Touches Morning, There Is Fog, And Mist, The Window Is Frosted, And You Cannot See Clearly. The Sky Is But The Mouth Of A Cave. The Whole Day Is The Cave.... Frightful Season! Winter Changes Into Stone The Water Of Heaven And The Heart Of Man.