Why, Flowers Are Violent, Cruel, Terrible And

Murder Is Born Of Love, And Love Attains The Greatest Intensity In Murder.

While I Was An Honorable Man In Her Eyes, She Did Not Love Me. But The Minute She Understood What I Was, When She Breathed The True And Foul Odor Of My Soul, Love Was Born In Her – For She Does Love Me! Well, Well! There Is Nothing Real, Then, Except Evil.

When One Tears Away The Veils And Shows Them Naked, People's Souls Give Off Such A Pungent Smell Of Decay.

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

Nothing Comes At All -- Never Anything. And I Cannot Accustom Myself To That. It Is This Monotony, This Absolute Fixity In Life, That Is The Hardest Thing For Me To Endure. I Should Like To Go Away From Here. Go Away? But Where And How? I Do Not Know, And I Stay.