The Historian Records, But The Novelist Creates.

Either Life Entails Courage, Or It Ceases To Be Life.

Do We Find Happiness So Often That We Should Turn It Off The Box When It Happens To Sit There?

Without Form, The Sensitiveness Vanishes.

Romance Only Dies With Life. No Pair Of Pincers Will Ever Pull It Out Of Us. But There Is A Spurious Sentiment Which Cannot Resist The Unexpected And The Incongruous And The Grotesque. A Touch Will Loosen It, And The Sooner It Goes From Us The Better.

Passion Does Not Blind. No. Passion Is Sanity, And The Woman You Love, She Is The Only Person You Will Ever Really Understand.