As All The Perfumes Of The Vanished

If Love Is A Play, This Play, As Old As The World, Fiasco Or Not, It Is, All In All, The Least Bad Thing That Has So Far Been Found. The Roles Are Trite, I Admit, But If The Play Had No Value The Whole Universe Wouldn’t Know It By Heart

Man Is A Pupil, Pain Is His Teacher.

In My Flowery Dreams There's Always You. I Do Not Regret It One Bit.

The Soft Contralto Notes Of A Woman's Voice Are Born In The Immediate Region Of The Heart.

The Apartments Of The Rich Are Cabinets Of Curiosities: A Conglomeration Of Classical Antiquity, Gothic, Renaissance; Louis Xiii... Something From Every Century But Our Own, A Predicament That Has Arisen In No Other Period... So That We Seem To Be Subsisting On The Ruins Of The Past, As If The End Of The World Were Near.