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The work of art, just like any fragment of human life considered in its deepest meaning, seems to me devoid of value if it does not offer the hardness, the rigidity, the regularity, the luster on every interior and exterior facet, of the crystal.
Anger is as a stone cast into a wasp’s nest.
In youth the days are short and the years are long. In old age the years are short and day’s long.