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For a sentimentalist is simply one who desires to have the luxury of an emotion without paying for it.
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Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious; both are disappointed.
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Some people always know the price, but not the value.
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It is a great mistake for men to give up paying compliments, for when they give up saying what is charming, they give up thinking what is charming.
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The only thing worse than quoting me, is not quoting me.
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They are always asking a writer why he does not write like somebody else, or a painter why he does not paint like somebody else, quite oblivious of the fact that if either of them did anything of the kind he would cease to be an artist.
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When a voice behind me whispered low,'That fellow's got to swing.'
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People are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves. It is what I call the depth of generosity.
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If Nature had been comfortable, mankind would never have invented architecture...In a house, we all feel of the proper proportions. Everything is subordinated to us, fashioned for our use and our pleasure.
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A grand passion is the privelege of people who have nothing to do.
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Religion is like a blind man looking in a black room for a black cat that isn't there, and finding it.
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Nowadays, saying what you really think can be a serious error since one risks being misunderstood.
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Religions die when they are proved to be true. Science is the record of dead religions.
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Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.
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We live, I regret to say, in an age of Big Data hype.
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By persistently remaining single, a man converts himself into a permanent public temptation. Men should be more careful.
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Public opinion exists only where there are no ideas.
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Whenever life sucks, remember you're going to die someday.
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My philosophy? I'm always right and you are wrong.
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The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.
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Realize your youth while you have it. Don’t squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless failure, or giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar. These are the sickly aims, the false ideals, of our age. Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing.
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Nothing, indeed, is more dangerous to the young artist than any conception of ideal beauty: he is constantly led by it either into weak prettiness or lifeless abstraction: whereas to touch the ideal at all you must not strip it of vitality. You must find it in life and re-create it in art.
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We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
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The final revelation is that Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of Art.