To Be A Person Is To Have

I Felt That Paris Was Illuminated By A Splendor Possessed By No Other Places.

I Belong To An Ancient, Idle, Wild And Useless Tribe, Perhaps I Am Even One Of The Last Members Of It, Who For Many Thousands Of Years, In All Countries And Parts Of The World, Has, Now And Again, Stayed For A Time Among The Hard-working Honest People In Real Life, And Sometimes Has Thus Been Fortunate Enough To Create Another Sort Of Reality For Them, Which In Some Way Or Another, Has Satisfied Them. I Am A Storyteller.

In Those Days I Had Various Strong Inclinations, For Wine, Gambling And Cockfighting, And The Society Of Gypsies, Together With A Passion For Theological Discussion Which I Had Inherited From My Father Himself-all Of Which My Father Thought I Had Better Rid Myself Of Before I Married.

Where The Storyteller Is Loyal, Eternally And Unswervingly Loyal To The Story, There, In The End, Silence Will Speak. Where The Story Has Been Betrayed, Silence Is But Emptiness. But We, The Faithful, When We Have Spoken Our Last Word, Will Hear The Voice Of Silence.

It Is Impossible That A Town Will Not Play A Part In Your Life, It Does Not Even Make Much Difference Whether You Have More Good Or Bad Things To Say Of It, It Draws Your Mind To It, By A Mental Law Of Gravitation.