To Speak Of Morals In

Criticism Is The Windows And Chandeliers Of Art: It Illuminates The Enveloping Darkness In Which Art Might Otherwise Rest Only Vaguely Discernible, And Perhaps Altogether Unseen.

It Is Also Said Of Me That I Now And Then Contradict Myself. Yes, I Improve Wonderfully As Time Goes On.

Musicals Are To The Theater What Wines Are To A Substantial Dinner.

All That Is Necessary To Raise Imbecility Into What The Mob Regards As Profundity Is To Lift It Off The Floor And Put It On A Platform.

There Is Something Distinguished About Even His Failures; They Sink Not Trivially, But With A Certain Air Of Majesty, Like A Great Ship, Its Flags Flying, Full Of Holes.