I'm A Libertine, But It's Not My

To Give A Name To A Thing Is As Gratifying As Giving A Name To An Island, But It Is Also Dangerous: The Danger Consists In One's Becoming Convinced That All Is Taken Care Of And That Once Named, The Phenomenon Has Also Been Explained.

Human Memory Is A Marvelous But Fallacious Instrument. The Memories Which Lie Within Us Are Not Carved In Stone; Not Only Do They Tend To Become Erased As The Years Go By, But Often They Change, Or Even Increase By Incorporating Extraneous Features.

I Am Not Even Alive Enough To Know How To Kill Myself

But Many, Many Stories Were Told; From What Could Be Gathered, All Fifty Of The Mine's Inhabitants Had Reacted On Each Other, Two By Two, As In Combinatorial Analysis, That Is To Say, Everyone With All The Others, And Especially Every Man With All The Women, Old Maids Or Married, And Every Woman With All The Men. All I Had To Do Was To Select Two Names At Random, Better If Different Sex, And Ask A Third Person, "what Happened With Those Two?" And Lo And Behold, A Splendid Story Was Unfolded For Me, Since Everyone Knew The Story Of Everyone Else.

In History And In Life One Sometimes Seems To Glimpse A Ferocious Law Which States: To He That Has, Will Be Given; From He That Has Not, Will Be Taken Away.