The Dead Drug Leaves A Ghost Behind.

Art Is A Marriage Of The Conscious And The Unconscious.

In Paris, Everybody Wants To Be An Actor; Nobody Is Content To Be A Spectator.

The Ability To Laugh Heartily Is The Sign Of A Healthy Soul.

The Runner Stopped Dead, Lost His Balance, Froze In One Of Those Violent Attitudes In Which The Photographers Petrify Living Reality.

Love Is Mainly An Affair Of Short Spasms. If These Spasms Disappoint Us, Love Dies. It Is Very Seldom That It Weathers The Experience And Becomes Friendship.