Statistics Is The First Of The Inexact

A Poet Is A Man Who Puts Up A Ladder To A Star And Climbs It While Playing A Violin.

Today I Begin To Understand What Love Must Be, If It Exists... When We Are Parted, We Each Feel The Lack Of The Other Half Of Ourselves. We Are Incomplete Like A Book In Two Volumes Of Which The First Has Been Lost. That Is What I Imagine Love To Be: Incompleteness In Absence.

Sickness Sensitizes Man For Observation, Like A Photographic Plate.

The Facts: Nothing Matters But The Facts: Worship Of The Facts Leads To Everything, To Happiness First Of All And Then To Wealth.

The English Are Crooked As A Nation And Honest As Individuals. The Contrary Is True Of The French, Who Are Honest As A Nation And Crooked As Individuals.