“Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undist…” — Walt Whitman

To die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

To the real artist in humanity, what are called bad manners are often the most picturesque and significant of all.

I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.

In the confusion we stay with each other, happy to be together, speaking without uttering a single word.