You Are The Loveliest Thing That I

Nobody Ever Became A Writer Just By Wanting To Be One.

His Was A Great Sin Who First Invented Consciousness. Let Us Lose It For A Few Hours.

Many Nights He Lay There Dreaming Awake Of Secret Cafés In Mont Marte, Where Ivory Women Delved In Romantic Mysteries With Diplomats And Soldiers Of Fortune, While Orchestras Played Hungarian Waltzes And The Air Was Thick And Exotic With Intrigue And Moonlight And Adventure.

Somewhere Inside Me There’ll Always Be The Person I Am To-night

Of All Natural Forces, Vitality Is The Incommunicable One. . . . Vitality Never "takes." You Have It Or You Haven't It, Like Health Or Brown Eyes Or A Baritone Voice.