There Are In France Some Fifty Thousand

Ale, Not Beer, In A Pewter Mug Was Comme Il Faut, The Only Thing For A Gentleman Of Letters, Worthy Of The Name, To Drink.

In The East Men Know Panic, But They Do Not Know What Fright Is.

How Weak Our Mind Is; How Quickly It Is Terrified And Unbalanced As Soon As We Are Confronted With A Small, Incomprehensible Fact. Instead Of Dismissing The Problem With: "we Do Not Understand Because We Cannot Find The Cause," We Immediately Imagine Terrible Mysteries And Supernatural Powers.

To Love Very Much Is To Love Inadequately; We Love-that Is All. Love Cannot Be Modified Without Being Nullified. Love Is A Short Word But It Contains Everything. Love Means The Body, The Soul, The Life, The Entire Being. We Feel Love As We Feel The Warmth Of Our Blood, We Breathe Love As We Breathe The Air, We Hold It In Ourselves As We Hold Our Thoughts. Nothing More Exists For Us. Love Is Not A Word; It Is A Wordless State Indicated By Four Letters.

You Have The Army Of Mediocrities Followed By The Multitude Of Fools. As The Mediocrities And The Fools Always Form The Immense Majority, It Is Impossible For Them To Elect An Intelligent Government.