Champagne... The Wine Of Kings,

Whether We Are Describing A King, An Assassin, A Thief, An Honest Man, A Prostitute, A Nun, A Young Girl, Or A Stallholder In A Market, It Is Always Ourselves That We Are Describing.

And Taking Her Friend’s Hand, She Put It On Her Breast, On That Firm Round Covering Of A Woman’s Heart Which The Male Often Finds So Satisfying That He Makes No Attempt To Find What Lies Beneath It.

Ale, Not Beer, In A Pewter Mug Was Comme Il Faut, The Only Thing For A Gentleman Of Letters, Worthy Of The Name, To Drink.

I Told Myself: 'i Am Surrounded By Unknown Things.' I Imagined Man Without Ears, Suspecting The Existence Of Sound As We Suspect So Many Hidden Mysteries, Man Noting Acoustic Phenomena Whose Nature And Provenance He Cannot Determine. And I Grew Afraid Of Everything Around Me – Afraid Of The Air, Afraid Of The Night. From The Moment We Can Know Almost Nothing, And From The Moment That Everything Is Limitless, What Remains? Does Emptiness Actually Not Exist? What Does Exist In This Apparent Emptiness?

Life Is A Slope. As Long As You're Going Up You're Always Looking Towards The Top And You Feel Happy, But When You Reach It, Suddenly You Can See The Road Going Downhill And Death At The End Of It All. It's Slow Going Up And Quick Going Down.