Many A Calm River Begins

Happy People Are Ignoramuses And Glory Is Nothing Else But Success, And To Achieve It One Only Has To Be Cunning.

The History Of A Man's Soul, Even The Pettiest Soul, Is Hardly Less Interesting And Useful Than The History Of A Whole People; Especially When The Former Is The Result Of The Observations Of A Mature Mind Upon Itself, And Has Been Written Without Any Egotistical Desire Of Arousing Sympathy Or Astonishment. Rousseau's Confessions Has Precisely This Defect – He Read It To His Friends.

What Of It? If I Die, I Die. It Will Be No Great Loss To The World, And I Am Thoroughly Bored With Life. I Am Like A Man Yawning At A Ball; The Only Reason He Does Not Go Home To Bed Is That His Carriage Has Not Arrived Yet.

It Is Sad To See A Young Man's Fondest Hopes And Dreams Shattered When The Rose-colured Veil Is Plucked Away And He Sees The Actions And Feelings Of Men For What They Are. But He Still Has The Hope Of Replacing His Old Illusions With Others, Just As Fleeting, But Also Just As Sweet.

My Love Had Grown One With My Soul; It Became Darker, But Did Not Go Out