The True Masters Of The Art Of

Tragedy Is Restful: And The Reason Is That Hope, That Foul, Deceitful Thing, Has No Part In It.

Believe Me; All Evil Comes From The Old. They Grow Fat On Ideas And Young Men Die Of Them.

Life Has A Way Of Setting Things In Order And Leaving Them Be. Very Tidy, Is Life.

Poor Little Men, Poor Little Cocks! As Soon As They're Old Enough, They Swell Their Plumage To Be Conquerors. If They Only Knew That It's Enough To Be Just A Little Bit Wounded And Sad In Order To Obtain Everything Without Fighting For It.

Have You Noticed That Life, With Murders And Catastrophes And Fabulous Inheritances, Happens Almost Exclusively In Newspapers?