When We Came Back To Paris It

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Unbought Stuffed Dogs.

I've Been Wondering About Dostoyevsky. How Can A Man Write So Badly, So Unbelievably Badly, And Make You Feel So Deeply?

Bullfighting Is The Only Art In Which The Artist Is In Danger Of Death And In Which The Degree Of Brilliance In The Performance Is Left To The Fighter's Honor.

Fascism Is A Lie Told By Bullies.

It's Silly Not To Hope. It's A Sin He Thought.