Good intentions are invariably ungrammatical.

The truth about the life of a man is not what he does, but the legend which he creates around himself.

There were opium-dens, where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were new.

A beggar hates his benefactor as much as he hates himself for begging.

And alien tears will fill for him pity's long broken urn. For his mourners will all be outcast men, and outcasts always mourn.

When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.

The weather is entrancing, but in my heart there is no sun.