He Does Not Weep Who Does Not

The Hatred Of Luxury Is Not An Intelligent Hatred. It Implies A Hatred Of Arts.

Where Would The Shout Of Love Begin, If Not From The Summit Of Sacrifice?

Nobody Loves The Light Like The Blind Man.

You Are Adorable, Mademoiselle. I Study Your Feet With The Microscope And Your Soul With The Telescope.

Not Ill? No Truly, I Am Young, Healthful, And Strong; The Blood Flows Freely In My Veins; My Limbs Obey My Will; I Am Robust In Mind And Body, Constituted For A Long Life. Yes, All This Is True; And Yet, Nevertheless, I Have An Illness, A Fatal Illness,-an Illness Given By The Hand Of Man!