I Am A Recluse At

We Cling To Our Last Pleasures As The Tree Clings To Its Last Leaves.

Outside The Sky Is Light With Stars

Every Time One Leaves Anywhere, Something Precious, Which Ought Not To Be Killed, Is Left To Die.

Conversation Is Like A Dear Little Baby That Is Brought In To Be Handed Round. You Must Rock It, Nurse It, Keep It On The Move If You Want It To Keep Smiling.

It Is Of Immense Importance To Learn To Laugh At Ourselves.