Many People Must Live And Die Alone,

The Writer, An Old Man With A White Moustache, Had Some Difficulty Getting Into Bed.

Those Who Are To Follow The Arts Should Have A Training In What Is Called Poverty. Given A Comfortable Middle-class Start In Life, The Artist Is Almost Sure To End Up By Becoming A Bellyacher, Constantly Complaining Because The Public Does Not Rush Forward At Once To Proclaim Him.

The Disease We All Have And That We Have To Fight Against All Our Lives Is ... The Disease Of Self.

Father Was Made For Romance. For Him There Was No Such Thing As A Fact.

You Must Try To Forget All You Have Learned,” Said The Old Man. “you Must Begin To Dream. From This Time On You Must Shut Your Ears To The Roaring Of The Voices.