She Was Like Marat Only With Nobody

Mnemosyne, One Must Admit, Has Shown Herself To Be A Very Careless Girl.

I Think Like A Genius, I Write Like A Distinguished Author, And I Speak Like A Child.

How Small The Cosmos (a Kangaroo's Pouch Would Hold It), How Paltry And Puny In Comparison To Human Consciousness, To A Single Individual Recollection, And Its Expression In Words!

Literature Was Not Born The Day When A Boy Crying "wolf, Wolf" Came Running Out Of The Neanderthal Valley With A Big Gray Wolf At His Heels; Literature Was Born On The Day When A Boy Came Crying "wolf, Wolf" And There Was No Wolf Behind Him.

The Future Is But The Obsolete In Reverse.