Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers.

We Know Only That Our Entire Existence Is Forced Into New Paths And Disrupted, That New Circumstances, New Joys And New Sorrows Await Us, And That The Unknown Has Its Uncanny Attractions, Alluring And At The Same Time Anguishing.

Pretty Women Without Religion Are Like Flowers Without Perfume.

The Swan, Like The Soul Of The Poet, By The Dull World Is Ill Understood.

Where Books Are Burnt, Men Finish Up Being Burnt Too.

From Every Englishman Emanates A Kind Of Gas, The Deadly Choke-damp Of Boredom.