I Like Reality. It Tastes Like Bread.

When You Are Forty, Half Of You Belongs To The Past... And When You Are Seventy, Nearly All Of You.

Death Is Beautiful. It Alone Gives Love Its True Habitat.

Death Is Beautiful. It Alone Gives Love Its True Habitat.

Don't Make The Mistake Of Believing It's Enough To Reproduce The Realities Of Life.... The Object Of Art Is To Give Life A Shape, And To Do It By Every Conceivable Artifice.

What Fun It Would Be To Be Poor, As Long As One Was Excessively Poor! Anything In Excess Is Most Exhilarating