You see, baby, after a glass or two of wine Iām inclined to extravagance.
We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal.
The object of art is to make eternal the desperately fleeting moment.
The scene is memory and is therefore nonrealistic. Memory takes a lot of poetic license. It omits some details; others are exaggerated, according to the emotional value of the articles it touches, for memory is seated predominantly in the heart.
Everybody is nothing until you love them.
If people behaved in the same way nations do they would all be put in straitjackets.