A Woman Who Thinks She Is Intelligent

Beautiful December Grapes, Blue As Plums, Every Grape A Little Skinful Of Sweet, Tasteless Water

There Are Connoisseurs Of Blue Just As There Are Connoisseurs Of Wine.

If He's Getting Married, He's Not Longer Interesting.

No Temptation Can Ever Be Measured By The Value Of Its Object.

Voluptuaries, Consumed By Their Senses, Always Begin By Flinging Themselves With A Great Display Of Frenzy Into An Abyss. But They Survive, They Come To The Surface Again. And They Develop A Routine Of The Abyss: It's Four O Clock. At Five I Have My Abyss.