A Great Artist Is Never Poor.

Where A Pack Of Monkeys Had Traveled Over The Road, The Smell Of Them Lingered For A Long Time In The Air, A Dry And Stale, Mousy Smell.

A Visitor Is A Friend, He Brings News, Good Or Bad, Which Is Bread To The Hungry Minds In Lonely Places. A Real Friend Who Comes To The House Is A Heavenly Messenger, Who Brings The Panis Angelorum.

Real Art Must Always Involve Some Witchcraft.

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

The Lime Trees Were In Bloom. But In The Early Morning Only A Faint Fragrance Drifted Through The Garden, An Airy Message, An Aromatic Echo Of The Dreams During The Short Summer Night.