Years Do Not Always Make

I Regard As A Mortal Sin Not Only The Lying Of The Senses In Matters Of Love, But Also The Illusion Which The Senses Seek To Create Where Love Is Only Partial. I Say, I Believe, That One Must Love With All Of One's Being, Or Else Live, Come What May, A Life Of Complete Chastity.

Masterpieces Are Only Lucky Attempts.

Life In Common Among People Who Love Each Other Is The Ideal Of Happiness.

We Must Love Stupid People Better Than Ourselves; Are They Not The Really Unfortunate Ones Of This World? Do Not People Without Taste And Without Ideal Grow Constantly Weary, Rejoicing In Nothing, And Being Quite Useless Here Below?

Oblivion Is The Flower That Grows Best On Graves.