It Takes Time For The

I Am Indebted To The Cat For A Particular Kind Of Honorable Deceit, For A Greater Control Over Myself, For A Characteristic Aversion To Brutal Sounds, And For The Need To Keep Silent For Long Periods Of Time.

Voluptuaries, Consumed By Their Senses, Always Begin By Flinging Themselves With A Great Display Of Frenzy Into An Abyss. But They Survive, They Come To The Surface Again. And They Develop A Routine Of The Abyss: It's Four O Clock. At Five I Have My Abyss.

Never Touch A Butterfly's Wing With Your Finger.

When She Raises Her Eyelids It's As If She Were Taking Off All Her Clothes.

One Keeps Forgetting Old Age Up To The Very Brink Of The Grave.