Death is beautiful. It alone gives love its true habitat.
I like reality. It tastes like bread.
The only immorality is not to do what one has to do when one has to do it.
Oh, love is real enough; you will find it someday, but it has one archenemy - and that is life.
Tragedy is restful: and the reason is that hope, that foul, deceitful thing, has no part in it.
Life has a way of setting things in order and leaving them be. Very tidy, is life.