Life Is Like A Cucumber. One Minute

A City Becomes A World When One Loves One Of Its Inhabitants.

Somewhere In The Heart Of Experience There Is An Order And A Coherence Which We Might Purprise If We Were Attentive Enough, Loving Enough, Or Patient Enough.

The Artist's Work Constitutes The Only Satisfactory Relationship He Can Have With His Fellow Men Since He Seeks His Real Friends Among The Dead And The Unborn.

Everyone Loathes His Own Country And Countrymen If He Is Any Sort Of Artist.

Whatever The Heart Desires, It Purchases At The Cost Of Soul