What A Cunning Mixture Of Sentiment, Pity,

Money-crimes Have An Abstract Quality. History Is Laden With The Victims Of Gold, But Their Remains Are Odourless.

Optimism Approves Of Everything, Submits To Everything, Believes Everything; It Is The Virtue Above All Of The Taxpayer.

Sadness Came Into The World With Satan - That World Our Saviour Never Prayed For, The World You Say I Do Not Know. Oh, It Is Not So Difficult To Recognize: It Is The World That Prefers Cold To Warmth! What Can God Find To Say To Those Who, Of Their Own Free Will, Of Their Own Weight Incline Towards Sadness And Turn Instinctively Towards The Night?

The Devil, You See, Is That Friend Who Never Stays With Us To The End.

When Writing Of Oneself One Should Show No Mercy. Yet Why At The First Attempt To Discover One's Own Truth Does All Inner Strength Seem To Melt Away In Floods Of Self-pity And Tenderness And Rising Tears?