Some People Are Molded By Their Admirations,

One Can Live In The Shadow Of An Idea Without Grasping It.

The Heart May Think It Knows Better: The Senses Know That Absence Blots People Out. We Really Have No Absent Friends. The Friend Becomes A Traitor By Breaking, However Unwillingly Or Sadly, Out Of Our Own Zone: A Hard Judgment Is Passed On Him, For All The Pleas Of The Heart.

... Artists Were Intended To Be An Ornament To Society. As A Society In Themselves They Are Unthinkable.

Pity The Selfishness Of Lovers: It Is Brief, A Forlorn Hope; It Is Impossible.

Meetings That Do Not Come Off Keep A Character Of Their Own. They Stay As They Were Projected.