Whereas Scoundrels Become Reconciled After Knifing One

I Can No Longer Think Of Anything But You. In Spite Of Myself, My Imagination Carries Me To You. I Grasp You, I Kiss You, I Caress You, A Thousand Of The Most Amorous Caresses Take Possession Of Me.

He Who Best Knows The World Will Love It Least.

There Is Neither Vice Nor Virtue, There Are Only Circumstances.

If The Artist Does Not Fling Himself, Without Reflecting, Into His Work, As Curtis Flung Himself Into The Yawning Gulf, As The Soldier Flings Himself Into The Enemy's Trenches, And If, Once In This Crater, He Does Not Work Like A Miner On Whom The Walls Of His Gallery Have Fallen In; If He Contemplates Difficulties Instead Of Overcoming Them One By One ... He Is Simply Looking On At The Suicide Of His Own Talent.

By Resorting To Self-resignation, The Unfortunate Consummate.