The Closing Years Of Life Are Like

I Thought Of How Many Places There Are In The World That Belong In This Way To Someone, Who Has It In His Blood Beyond Anyone Else's Understanding.

All Our "most Sacred Affections " Are Merely Prosaic Habit.

In Fact A Man In Love Or One Consumed With Hatred Creates Symbols For Himself, As A Superstitious Man Does, From A Passion Of Conferring Uniqueness On Things Or Persons. A Man Who Knows Nothing Of Symbols Is One Of Dante's Sluggards. This Is Why Art Mirrors Itself In Primitive Rites Or Strong Passions, Seeking For Symbols, Revolving Round The Primitive Taste For Savagery, For What Is Irrational (blood And Sex).

The Art Of Living Is The Art Of Knowing How To Believe Lies.

Not Believing In Anything Is Also A Religion .