To Be Adult Is To Be Alone.

To Reflect Is To Disturb One's Thoughts.

The Ideal, Without Doubt, Varies, But Its Enemies, Alas, Are Always The Same.

We Find It Easy To Believe That Praise Is Sincere: Why Should Anyone Lie In Telling Us The Truth?

I Still Understand A Few Words In Life, But I No Longer Think They Make A Sentence.

Literature: Proclaiming In Front Of Everyone What One Is Careful To Conceal From One's Immediate Circle