To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.

To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?

Mysterious affair, electricity.

Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.

With all this darkness round me I feel less alone.

The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. Let us not then speak ill of our generation, it is not any unhappier than its predecessors. Let us not speak well of it either. Let us not speak of it at all. It is true the population has increased.

I cannot explain my plays. Each must find out for himself what is meant