Patriotism Is A Kind Of Religion; It

Champagne... The Wine Of Kings, The King Of Wines

The Glasses Were Half Full, Which Meant That The Guests Were Completely So

A Man Forced To Spend His Life Without Ever Having The Right, Without Ever Finding The Time, To Shut Himself Up All Alone, No Matter Where, To Think, To Reflect, To Work, To Dream? Ah! My Dear Boy, A Key, The Key Of A Door Which One Can Lock This Is Happiness, Mark You, The Only Happiness!

I Have Seen Mad People, And I Have Known Some Who Were Quite Intelligent, Lucid, Even Clear-sighted In Every Concern Of Life, Except On One Point. They Could Speak Clearly, Readily, Profoundly On Everything; Till Their Thoughts Were Caught In The Breakers Of Their Delusions And Went To Pieces There, Were Dispersed And Swamped In That Furious And Terrible Sea Of Fogs And Squalls Which Is Called Madness.

War! When I But Think Of This Word, I Feel Bewildered, As Though They Were Speaking To Me Of Sorcery, Of The Inquisition, Of A Distant, Finished, Abominable, Monstrous, Unnatural Thing. When They Speak To Us Of Cannibals, We Smile Proudly, As We Proclaim Our Superiority To These Savages. Who Are The Real Savages? Those Who Struggle In Order To Eat Those Whom They Vanquish, Or Those Who Struggle Merely To Kill?