Happiness Is A Fata Morgana. The Only

How Lovely It Is That There Are Words And Sounds. Are Not Words And Sounds Rainbows And Illusive Bridges Between Things Which Are Eternally Apart?

One Is Not Converted To Christianity; One Must Be Morbid Enough For It.

A Letter Is An Unannounced Visit, The Postman The Agent Of Rude Surprises. One Ought To Reserve An Hour A Week For Receiving Letters And Afterwards Take A Bath.

In Every Age The Wisest Have Passed The Identical Judgment On Life: It Is Worthless.

We Ought To Face Our Destiny With Courage.