Learned Women Are Ridiculed Because

The Brain Is A Tool That Gets Rusty Without Constant, Albeit Moderate, Exercise.

No One Makes A Revolution By Himself.

We Do Not Precisely Enjoy Liberty At The Figaro. M. De Latouche, Our Worthy Director (ah! You Should Know The Fellow), Is Always Hanging Over Us, Cutting, Pruning, Right Or Wrong, Imposing Upon Us His Whims, His Aberrations, His Fancies, And We Have To Write As He Bids.

Art For Art's Sake Is An Empty Phrase. Art For The Sake Of Truth, Art For The Sake Of The Good And The Beautiful, That Is The Faith I Am Searching For.

We Must Love Stupid People Better Than Ourselves; Are They Not The Really Unfortunate Ones Of This World? Do Not People Without Taste And Without Ideal Grow Constantly Weary, Rejoicing In Nothing, And Being Quite Useless Here Below?