Women Themselves Are So Happy, And So

Self-interest Is An Ineffable Feeling Which Shall Follow Us Into God's Very Presence Since They Say There Is A Hierarchy Even Among The Holy Saints.

Evasion Is Unworthy Of Us, And Is Always The Intimate Of Equivocation.

A Grocer Is Attracted To His Business By A Magnetic Force As Great As The Repulsion Which Renders It Odious To Artists.

Let Passion Reach A Catastrophe And It Submits Us To An Intoxicating Force Far More Powerful Than The Niggardly Irritation Of Wine Or Of Opium. The Lucidity Our Ideas Then Achieve, And The Delicacy Of Our Overly Exalted Sensations, Produce The Strangest And Most Unexpected Effects.

A Mother's Happiness Is Like A Beacon, Lighting Up The Future But Reflected Also On The Past In The Guise Of Fond Memories.