Vice Is Perhaps A Desire To Learn

Are Not Our Noblest Feelings As It Were The Poems Of Our Will.

The Union Of A Want And A Sentiment.

To Get A Traveling Salesman Drunk Is The Height Of Impossibility.

There Are Houses In Certain Provincial Towns Whose Aspect Inspires Melancholy, Akin To That Called Forth By Sombre Cloisters, Dreary Moorlands, Or The Desolation Of Ruins. Within These Houses There Is, Perhaps, The Silence Of The Cloister, The Barrenness Of Moors, The Skeleton Of Ruins; Life And Movement Are So Stagnant There That A Stranger Might Think Them Uninhabited, Were It Not That He Encounters Suddenly The Pale, Cold Glance Of A Motionless Person, Whose Half-monastic Face Peers Beyond The Window-casing At The Sound Of An Unaccustomed Step.

The Monotony Of Provincial Life Attracts The Attention Of People To The Kitchen. You Do Not Dine As Luxuriously In The Provinces As In Paris, But You Dine Better, Because The Dishes Serve You Are The Result Of Mediation And Study.