One Does Not Travel By

Truth, Like Time, Is An Idea Arising From, And Dependent Upon, Human Intercourse.

Then Martine Said: "so Yuo Will Be Poor Now All Your Life, Babette?" Poor?" Said Babette. She Smiled As If To Herself. "no, I Shall Never Be Poor. I Told You That I Am A Great Artist. A Great Artist, Mesdames, Is Never Poor.we Have Something, Mesdames, Of Which Other People Know Nothing.

People Who Dream When They Sleep At Night Know Of A Special Kind Of Happiness Which The World Of The Day Holds Not, A Placid Ecstasy, And Ease Of Heart, That Are Like Honey On The Tongue. They Also Know That The Real Glory Of Dreams Lies In Their Atmosphere Of Unlimited Freedom. It Is Not The Freedom Of The Dictator, Who Enforces His Own Will On The World, But The Freedom Of The Artist, Who Has No Will, Who Is Free Of Will.

There Is Something Strangely Determinate And Fatal About A Single Shot In The Night. It Is As If Someone Had Cried A Message To You In One Word, And Would Not Repeat It.

We Invent The Past And Remember The Future.