Love Is A Game In Which One

Society Bristles With Enigmas Which Look Hard To Solve. It Is A Perfect Maze Of Intrigue.

Conscience Is A Cudgel Which All Men Pick Up In Order To Thwack Their Neighbors Instead Of Applying It To Their Own Shoulders.

Are Not Our Noblest Feelings As It Were The Poems Of Our Will.

Music Is Of Two Kinds: One Petty, Poor, Second-rate, Never Varying, Its Base The Hundred Or So Phrasings Which All Musicians Understand, A Babbling Which Is More Or Less Pleasant, The Life That Most Composers Live.

A Woman Questions The Man Who Loves Exactly As A Judge Questions A Criminal. This Being So, A Flash Of The Eye, A Mere Word, An Inflection Of The Voice Or A Moment's Hesitation Suffice To Expose The Fact, Betrayal Or Crime He Is Attempting To Conceal.