The Stitch Of A Book Is Its

Cleverness Is A Disease.

If Books Were Persian Carpets, One Would Not Look Only At The Outer Side. Because It Is The Stitch That Makes A Carpet Wear, Gives It Its Life And Bloom.

In Good Company Your Thoughts Run, In Solitude Your Thought Is Still ... In Talk Your Mind Can Be Stretched, Widened, Exhilarated To Heights, But It Cannot Be Deepened; You Have To Deepen It Yourself.

Memory Is The Only Friend Of Grief.

I Don't Know If I Believe In God, But I Know I Believe In The Devil. I Have Met Him.