Champagne... The Wine Of Kings, The King

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.

Night Was A Very Different Matter. It Was Dense, Thicker Than The Very Walls, And It Was Empty, So Black, So Immense That Within It You Could Brush Against Appalling Things And Feel Roaming And Prowling Around A Strange, Mysterious Horror.

Our Memory Is A More Perfect World Than The Universe: It Gives Back Life To Those Who No Longer Exist.

Of All The Passions, The Only One That Seems Respectable To Me Is The Passion For Food

Conversation. What Is It? A Mystery! It's The Art Of Never Seeming Bored, Of Touching Everything With Interest, Of Pleasing With Trifles, Of Being Fascinating With Nothing At All.