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No theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself.
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Marco Polo had seen the inhabitants of Zipangu place rose-colored pearls in the mouths of the dead. A sea-monster had been enamoured of the pearl that the diver brought to King Perozes, and had slain the thief, and mourned for seven moons over its loss.
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Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know.
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If property had simply pleasures, we could stand it; but its duties make it unbearable. In the interest of the rich we must get rid of it.
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In England it is enough for a man to try and produce any serious, beautiful work to lose all his rights as a citizen.
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Art persists, it timelessly continues.
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I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it. You worshipped yourself too much. We are both punished.
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Art is the only serious thing in the world. And the artist is the only person who is never serious.
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Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.
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Christ did not die to save people, but to teach people how to save each other. This is, I have no doubt, a grave heresy, but it is also a fact.
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It is only very ugly or very beautiful women who ever hide their faces.
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I know. In fact, I am never wrong.
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There is a tiny yellow daffodil, The butterfly can see it from afar, Although one summer evening's dew could fill Its little cup twice over, ere the star Had called the lazy shepherd to his fold, And be no prodigal.
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Out of the unreal shadows of night comes back the real life that we had known. We have to resume it where we had left off...
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I find that forgiving one's enemies is a most curious morbid pleasure; perhaps I should check it.
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Intuition is a strange instinct that tells a woman she is right, whether she is or not.
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Most people are boring and stupid.
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It is love, and not German philosophy, that is the true explanation of the world, whatever may be the explanation of the next.
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There is no Mystery so great as Misery.
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If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.
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Men of thoughts should have nothing to do with action.
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So lets knock a couple back and make some noise.
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Behind joy and laughter there may be a temperament, coarse, hard and callous. But behind sorrow there is always sorrow. Pain, unlike pleasure, wears no mask. ... For this reason there is no truth comparable to sorrow. There are times when sorrow seems to me to be the only truth. Other things may be illusions of the eye or the appetite, made to blind the one and cloy the other, but out of sorrow have the worlds been built, and at the birth of a child or a star there is pain.
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He is some brainless, beautiful creature, who should always be here in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in the summer when we want something to chill our intelligence.