In A World Of Hunchbacks, A Fine

Love Is A Religion, And Its Rituals Cost More Than Those Of Other Religions. It Goes By Quickly And, Like A Street Urchin, It Likes To Mark Its Passage By A Trail Of Devastation.

Incurable Wounds Are Those Inflicted By Tongue And Eye, By Mockery And Disdain.

The World Will Avenge Itself Upon All Happiness In Which It Has No Share.

Love Which Economizes Is Never True Love.

Nothing Is As Heady As The Wine Of Misfortune.