Whether We Are Describing A King, An

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 Love The Night Passionately. I Love It As I Love My Country, Or My Mistress, With An Instinctive, Deep, And Unshakeable Love. I Love It With All My Senses: I Love To See It, I Love To Breathe It In, I Love To Open My Ears To Its Silence, I Love My Whole Body To Be Caressed By Its Blackness. Skylarks Sing In The Sunshine, The Blue Sky, The Warm Air, In The Fresh Morning Light. The Owl Flies By Night, A Dark Shadow Passing Through The Darkness; He Hoots His Sinister, Quivering Hoot, As Though He Delights In The Intoxicating Black Immensity Of Space.

You'll Find That My Coquetry Is Quite Impartial, Which Allows Me To Keep My Friends.

The Great Artists Are Those Who Impose Their Personal Vision Upon Humanity.

There Is Only One Good Thing In Life, And That Is Love. And How You Misunderstand It! How You Spoil It! You Treat It As Something Solemn Like A Sacrament, Or Something To Be Bought, Like A Dress.