Love Is A Kind Of Dementia With

Love Is A Kind Of Dementia With Very Precise And Oft-repeated Clinical Symptoms. You Blush In Each Other's Presence, You Both Hover In Places Where You Expect The Other To Pass, You Are Both A Little Tongue-tied, You Both Laugh Inexplicably And Too Long, You Become Quite Nauseatingly Girlish, And He Becomes Quite Ridiculously Gallant. You Have Also Grown A Little Stupid.

Love Is A Temporary Madness. It Erupts Like An Earthquake And Then Subsides.

The Human Heart Likes A Little Disorder In Its Geometry.

Fascism Is Fundamentally And At Bottom An Aesthetic Conception, And . . . It Is Your Function As Creators Of Beautiful Things To Portray With The Greatest Efficacy The Sublime Beauty And Inevitable Reality Of The Fascist Ideal.

In Deference To Such Spectacular Carnage It Is Perhaps Perverse To Dwell Upon One Person's Death, But We Are Creatures So Constituted That The Passing Of One Friend Or One Acquaintance Has A Profounder Effect That That Of 100,000 Strangers. If There Is Any Metaphorical Truth In The Jewish Proverb That He Who Saves One Life Saves The Whole World, Then There Is Equal Metaphorical Truth In The Proposition That When One Person Dies, The Whole World Dies With Them.