Prose Is Like Hair; It Shines With

Poetry Is As Precise A Thing As Geometry.

He Was Bored Now When Emma Suddenly Began To Sob On His Breast; And His Heart, Like The People Who Can Only Stand A Certain Amount Of Music, Became Drowsy Through Indifference To The Vibrations Of A Love Whose Subtleties He Could No Longer Distinguish.

Poetry Is A Subject As Precise As Geometry.

There Is No Truth. There Is Only Perception.

Reality Does Not Conform To The Ideal, But Confirms It.