It Takes Time For The Absent To

One Keeps Forgetting Old Age Up To The Very Brink Of The Grave.

In The Matter Of Furnishing, I Find A Certain Absence Of Ugliness Far Worse Than Ugliness.

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.

At Sixty-three Years Of Age, Less A Quarter, One Still Has Plans.

Truffles Must Come To The Table In Their Own Stock And As You Break Open This Jewel Sprung From A Poverty-stricken Soil, Imagine - If You Have Never Visited It - The Desolate Kingdom Where It Rules.