Whether We Are Describing A King, An

Killing Is Decreed By Law But Nature Loves Eternal Youth. Whatever She Does, However Unconscious And Unfeeling The Act, She Seems To Cry Out: 'quick! Quick! Quick!' And The More She Destroys, The More She Is Renewed.

One Sometimes Weeps Over One's Illusions With As Much Bitterness As Over A Death.

Ale, Not Beer, In A Pewter Mug Was Comme Il Faut, The Only Thing For A Gentleman Of Letters, Worthy Of The Name, To Drink.

I Know Nothing More Enjoyable Than That Happy-go-lucky Wandering Life, In Which You Are Perfectly Free; Without Shackles Of Any Kind, Without Care, Without Preoccupation, Without Thought Even Of To-morrow. You Go In Any Direction You Please, Without Any Guide Save Your Fancy.

In The East Men Know Panic, But They Do Not Know What Fright Is.