Faith Is Not A Thing Which One

[p]ride Has No Intrinsic Substance, Being No More Than The Name Given To The Soul Devouring Itself. When That Loathsome Perversion Of Love Has Borne Its Fruit, It Has Another, More Meaningful And Weightier Name. We Call It Hatred.

The Modern State No Longer Has Anything But Rights; It Does Not Recognize Duties Any More.

Optimism Has Always Seemed To Me The Cunning Alibi Of Egoists, Anxious To Cover Up Their State Of Chronic Self-satisfaction. They Are Optimists In Order To Avoid Pitying Other Men And Their Misfortune. ~~ Yet Pity Is A Vexed Question.

Little Things Seem Nothing, But They Give Peace, Like Those Meadow Flowers Which Individually Seem Odorless But All Together Perfume The Air.

Hell, Madame, Is To Love No Longer.