Nothing Brings On Jealousy Like Laughter.

It Amused Me To Think That One Can Tell The Truth When One Is Drunk And Nobody Will Believe It.

My Love Of Pleasure Seems To Be The Only Consistent Side Of My Character. Is It Because I Have Not Read Enough?

A Strange Melancholy Pervades Me To Which I Hesitate To Give The Grave And Beautiful Name Of Sorrow. The Idea Of Sorrow Has Always Appealed To Me But Now I Am Almost Ashamed Of It's Complete Egoism. I Have Known Boredom, Regret, And Occasionally Remorse, But Never Sorrow. Today It Envelops Me Like A Silken Web, Enervating And Soft, And Sets Me Apart From Everybody Else.

I Always Believe Things Are Going To Work Out.

Unhappiness Has Nothing To Teach, And Resignation Is Ugly.