Anyone who has chanced like me to roam through desolate mountains and studied at length their fantastic shapes and drunk the invigorating air of their valleys can understand why I wish to describe and depict these magic scenes for others.

Passions are merely ideas in their initial stage.

And I, as I lived, in an alien landWill die a slave and an orphan.

I was born, so that the whole world could be a spectatorOf my triumph or my doom.

We survive on novelty, so much less demanding than commitment.

A strange thing, the human heart in general, and woman's heart in particular.

In people's eyes I readPages of malice and sin.