I Love You Wildly, Insanely, Infinitely.

Don't Be Upset. Don't Listen To Me. I Only Meant That I Am Jealous Of A Dark, Unconscious Element, Something Irrational, Unfathomable. I Am Jealous Of Your Toilet Articles, Of The Drops Of Sweat On Your Skin, Of The Germs In The Air You Breathe Which Could Get Into Your Blood And Poison You. And I Am Jealous Of Komarovsky, As If He Were An Infectious Disease. Someday He Will Take You Away, Just As Certainly As Death Will Someday Separate Us. I Know This Must Seem Obscure And Confused, But I Can't Say It More Clearly. I Love You Madly, Irrationally, Infinitely.

And Why Is It, Thought Lara, That My Fate Is To See Everything And Take It All So Much To Heart?

I Don't Like People Who Have Never Fallen Or Stumbled. Their Virtue Is Lifeless And It Isn't Of Much Value. Life Hasn't Revealed Its Beauty To Them.

Man Is Born To Live, Not To Prepare For Life.

Art Has Two Constant, Two Unending Concerns: It Always Meditates On Death And Thus Always Creates Life. All Great, Genuine Art Resembles And Continues The Revelation Of St John.