There Are Few Sorrows In Which A

One's Own Vanities And Humiliations I Find A Delicious Subject For Conversation. Things Said Of Me Behind My Back I Don't Enjoy, And Don't Listen To Them.

Our Names Are Labels, Plainly Printed On The Bottled Essence Of Our Past Behavior.

One Can Be Bored Until Boredom Becomes A Mystical Experience.

Those Who Set Out To Serve Both God And Mammon Soon Discover That There Isn't A God.

What Things There Are To Write, If One Could Only Write Them! My Mind Is Full Of Gleaming Thought; Gay Moods And Mysterious, Moth-like Meditations Hover In My Imagination, Fanning Their Painted Wings. But Always The Rarest, Those Streaked With Azure And The Deepest Crimson, Flutter Away Beyond My Reach.