Murder Is Born Of Love, And Love

Sheep Run To The Slaughterhouse, Silent And Hopeless, But At Least Sheep Never Vote For The Butcher Who Kills Them Or The People Who Devour Them. More Beastly Than Any Beast, More Sheepish Than Any Sheep, The Voter Names His Own Executioner And Chooses His Own Devourer, And For This Precious "right" A Revolution Was Fought.

Great Ladies ... Are Like The Best Sauces -- It Is Better Not To Know How They Are Made.

While All Is New, All Is Beautiful. That Is A Well-known Song. Yes, And The Next Day The Air Changes Into Another One Equally Well Known.

Come Now, Don't Make Such A Funeral Face. It Isn't Dying That's Sad; It's Living When You're Not Happy.

As Soon As I Find Myself In The Presence Of A Rich Man, I Cannot Help Looking Upon Him As An Exceptional And Beautiful Being, As A Sort Of Marvellous Divinity, And, In Spite Of Myself, Surmounting My Will And My Reason, I Feel Rising, From The Depths Of My Being, Toward This Rich Man, Who Is Very Often An Imbecile, And Sometimes A Murderer, Something Like An Incense Of Admiration. Is It Not Stupid? And Why? Why?