Mud, Raised By Hurricanes, Wells Up In

Time Is The Only Capital Of Those Who Just Have Their Inteligence As Fortune.

The More One Judges, The Less One Loves.

Love Is The Only Way On Which Even The Dim-witted Reaches Certain Heights.

This Coffee Falls Into Your Stomach, And Straightway There Is A General Commotion. Ideas Begin To Move Like The Battalions Of The Grand Army Of The Battlefield, And The Battle Takes Place. Things Remembered Arrive At Full Gallop, Ensuing To The Wind. The Light Cavalry Of Comparisons Deliver A Magnificent Deploying Charge, The Artillery Of Logic Hurry Up With Their Train And Ammunition, The Shafts Of With Start Up Like Sharpshooters. Similes Arise, The Paper Is Covered With Ink; For The Struggle Commences And Is Concluded With Torrents Of Black Water, Just As A Battle With Powder.

A Great Writer Is Nothing Less Than A Martyr Who Does Not Die.