It Is Always Thus, Impelled By A

She's Got Feet Like Boats, Whiskers Like An American, And Her Undies Are Filthy.

The Charms Of The Passing Woman Are Generally In Direct Ratio To The Swiftness Of Our Passage.

... But All The Feelings That Evoke In Us The Joy Or The Misfortune Of A Real Person Are Only Produced In Us Through The Intermediary Of An Image Of That Joy Or That Misfortune; The Ingeniousness Of The First Novelist Was In Understanding That, In The Apparatus Of Our Emotions, Since The Image Is The Only Essential Element, The Simplification Which Consists Of Purely And Simply Suppressing The Factual Characters Is A Definitive Improvement.

The Bonds That Unite Another Person To Our Self Exist Only In Our Mind.

Less Disappointing Than Life, Great Works Of Art Do Not Begin By Giving Us All Their Best.