Bohemia is nothing more than the little country in which you do not live. If you try to obtain citizenship in it, at once the court and retinue pack the royal archives and treasure and move away beyond the hills.

Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.

She plucked from my lapel the invisible strand of lint (the universal act of woman to proclaim ownership).

Turn up the lights. I don't want to go home in the dark.

A good story is like a bitter pill, with the sugar coating inside of it.

Women's weapon, water-drops.

By nature and doctrines I am addicted to the habit of discovering choice places wherein to feed.