The Costliest Women Are The Ones Who

As All The Perfumes Of The Vanished Dayrise From The Earth Still Moistened With The Dewso From My Chastened Soul Beneath Thy Rayold Love Is Born Anew.

A Lively Retrospect Summons Back To Us Once More Our Youth, With Vivid Reflex Of Its Early Joys And Unstained Pleasures.

What I Need Is A Woman Who Is Something, Anything: Either Very Beautiful Or Very Kind Or In The Last Resort Very Wicked; Very Witty Or Very Stupid, But Something.

I Can't Help It, The Idea Of The Infinite Torments Me.

Is Is True That Dictators Never Dream Because They Can Change Their Smallest Fantasies Into Realities If They Want To?