It Is Raining Bombs On The House

We Swallow Greedily Any Lie That Flatters Us, But We Sip Only Little By Little At A Truth We Find Bitter.

The First Promise Exchanged By Two Beings Of Flesh Was At The Foot Of A Rock That Was Crumbling Into Dust; They Took As Witness For Their Constancy A Sky That Is Not The Same For A Single Instant; Everything Changed In Them And Around Them, And They Believed Their Hearts Free Of Vicissitudes. O Children! Always Children!

Evil Always Turns Up In This World Through Some Genius Or Other.

Whatever Dressing One Gives To Mushrooms, To Whatever Sauces Our Apiciuses Put Them, They Are Not Really Good But To Be Sent Back To The Dungheap Where They Are Born.

We Are Constantly Railing Against The Passions; We Ascribe To Them All Of Man's Afflictions, And We Forget That They Are Also The Source Of All His Pleasures.