The Mouth Keeps Silent To Hear The

If Love Is A Play, This Play, As Old As The World, Fiasco Or Not, It Is, All In All, The Least Bad Thing That Has So Far Been Found. The Roles Are Trite, I Admit, But If The Play Had No Value The Whole Universe Wouldn’t Know It By Heart

Life Is A Sleep, Love Is A Dream; And You Have Lived If You Have Loved.

Partake Of Love As A Temperate Man Partakes Of Wine; Do Not Become Intoxicated.

I See That You Believe In Love Such As The Poets And Romancers Have Represented... The Poets Represent Love As The Sculptors Design Beauty, As The Musicians Create Melody; That Is To Say, Endowed With An Exquisite Nervous Organization, They Gather Up With Discerning Ardor The Purest Elements Of Life, The Most Beautiful Lines Of Matter, And The Most Harmonious Voices Of Nature.... To Try To Find In Real Life Such Love As This, Eternal And Absolute, Is The Same Thing As To Seek On The Public Squares Such A Woman As Venus Or To Expect Nightingales To Sing The Symphonies Of Beethoven.

If You Are Weak, Dependent Upon Others, Inclined To Allow Yourself To Be Dominated By Opinion, To Take Root Wherever You See A Little Soil, Make For Yourself A Shield That Will Resist Everything, For If You Yield To Your Weaker Nature You Will Not Grow, You Will Dry Up Like A Dead Plant, And You Will Bear Neither Fruit Nor Flowers.