The Living Are Just The Dead On

An Act Of Goodness Is Of Itself An Act Of Happiness.

I Knew That If I Was Captured By The Germans I Would Be Shot At Once, Since I Have Always Been Counted As An Enemy Of Germany Because Of My Play, 'le Bourgmestre De Stillemonde,' Which Dealt With The Conditions In Belgium During The German Occupation Of 1918.

Happiness Is Rarely Absent; It Is We That Know Not Of Its Presence.

Justice Is The Very Last Thing Of All Wherewith The Universe Concerns Itself. It Is Equilibrium That Absorbs Its Attention.

As Soon As We Put Something Into Words, We Devalue It In A Strange Way. We Think We Have Plunged Into The Depths Of The Abyss, And When We Return To The Surface The Drop Of Water On Our Pale Fingertips No Longer Resembles The Sea From Which It Comes. We Delude Ourselves That We Have Discovered A Wonderful Treasure Trove, And When We Return To The Light Of Day We Find That We Have Brought Back Only False Stones And Shards Of Glass; And Yet The Treasure Goes On Glimmering In The Dark, Unaltered.