Honesty Dies In Selling Itself.

Love Without Reverence And Enthusiasm Is Only Friendship.

Age Continually Alters The Faces Of Those Who Think Or Study, And So Their Portraits Differ From One Another And Don't Even Resemble Them For Very Long. I Dream So Much And Live So Little That I'm Sometimes Only Three Years Old. But The Next Day I'm Three Hundred, If The Dream Has Been Sombre.

Vanity Is The Quicksand Of Reason.

The Mind Has No Sex.

I Have An Object, A Task, Let Me Say The Word, A Passion. The Profession Of Writing Is A Violent And Almost Indestructible One.