Uncultivated Minds Are Not Full

This Nice And Subtle Happiness Of Reading, This Joy Not Chilled By Age, This Polite And Unpunished Vice, This Selfish, Serene Life-long Intoxication.

One Can Be Bored Until Boredom Becomes A Mystical Experience.

Those Who Talk On The Razor-edge Of Double-meanings Pluck The Rarest Blooms From The Precipice On Either Side.

The World Is Not Unkind, And Reprobates Are Worse Than Their Reputations.

We Need New Friends; Some Of Us Are Cannibals Who Have Eaten Their Old Friends Up; Others Must Have Ever-renewed Audiences Before Whom To Re-enact The Ideal Version Of Their Lives.