For Every Sin There Is

So Long As I Know What's Boiling In My Pot I Don't Bother My Head About What's In Other People's.

Memory Nourishes The Heart, And Grief Abates.

The Charms Of The Passing Woman Are Generally In Direct Ratio To The Swiftness Of Our Passage.

The Bonds Between Ourselves And Another Person Exists Only In Our Minds. Memory As It Grows Fainter Loosens Them, And Notwithstanding The Illusion By Which We Want To Be Duped And Which, Out Of Love, Friendship, Politeness, Deference, Duty, We Dupe Other People, We Exist Alone. Man Is The Creature Who Cannot Escape From Himself, Who Knows Other People Only In Himself, And When He Asserts The Contrary, He Is Lying.

The Facts Of Life Do Not Penetrate To The Sphere In Which Our Beliefs Are Cherished; They Did Not Engender Those Beliefs, And They Are Powerless To Destroy Them.