A man has only one way of being immortal on earth: he has to forget he is a mortal.
Their own kind of logic which cries for miracles and, on occasion.
Death holds no horrors. It is simply the ultimate horror of life.
Sadness flies on the wings of the morning, and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.
A wife loves out of duty, and duty leads to constraint, and constraint kills desire.
I remember a time when a cabbage could sell itself by being a cabbage. Nowadays it’s no good being a cabbage – unless you have an agent and pay him a commission. Nothing is free anymore to sell itself or give itself away. These days, Countess, every cabbage has its pimp.