Everything Is Politics.

I Tell Them That If They Will Occupy Themselves With The Study Of Mathematics They Will Find In It The Best Remedy Against The Lusts Of The Flesh.

One Must Die To Life In Order To Be Utterly A Creator.

In Books We Never Find Anything But Ourselves. Strangely Enough, That Always Gives Us Great Pleasure, And We Say The Author Is A Genius.

Time Has No Divisions To Mark Its Passage, There Is Never A Thunder-storm Or Blare Of Trumpets To Announce The Beginning Of A New Month Or Year. Even When A New Century Begins It Is Only We Mortals Who Ring Bells And Fire Off Pistols.

The Accouterments Of Life Were So Rich And Varied, So Elaborated, That Almost No Place At All Was Left For Life Itself. Each And Every Accessory Was So Costly And Beautiful That It Had An Existence Above And Beyond The Purpose It Was Meant To Serve – Confusing The Observer And Absorbing Attention.