It Is Strange What A

We Do Not Know The True Value Of Our Moments Until They Have Undergone The Test Of Memory. Like The Images The Photographer Plunges Into A Golden Bath, Our Sentiments Take On Color; And Only Then, After That Recoil And That Trans-figuration, Do We Understand Their Real Meaning And Enjoy Them In All Their Tranquil Splendor.

In The Beds Which The Piety Of The Public Has Prepared On Every Side, Stricken Men Await The Verdict Of Fate.

When You Are In It Up To Your Ears, Keep Your Mouth Shut.

I Have Too Much Respect For The Idea Of God To Make It Responsible For Such An Absurd World.

It Is Strange What A Contempt Men Have For The Joys That Are Offered Them Freely.