You Will Not Become A Saint Through

Love, Friendship And Respect Do Not Unite People As Much As Common Hatred For Something.

This Man, Who For Twenty-five Years Has Been Reading And Writing About Art, And In All That Time Has Never Understood Anything About Art, Has For Twenty-five Years Been Hashing Over Other People's Ideas About Realism, Naturalism And All That Nonsense; For Twenty-five Years He Has Been Reading And Writing About What Intelligent People Already Know And About What Stupid People Don't Want To Know--which Means That For Twenty-five Years He's Been Taking Nothing And Making Nothing Out Of It. And With It All, What Conceit! What Pretension!

I Am Dying. I Haven't Drunk Champagne For A Long Time.

A Fiancé Is Neither This Nor That: He's Left One Shore, But Not Yet Reached The Other.

There Is Nothing More Awful, Insulting, And Depressing Than Banality.