Great Artists Have No Country.

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

Know That There Is Often Hidden In Us A Dormant Poet, Always Young And Alive.

Happiness May Have But One Night, As Glory But One Day.

Life Is A Deep Sleep Of Which Love Is The Dream

Memory Is What Makes Us Young Or Old.