Sadness flies on the wings of the morning, and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

I remember a time when a cabbage could sell itself by being a cabbage. Nowadays it’s no good being a cabbage – unless you have an agent and pay him a commission. Nothing is free anymore to sell itself or give itself away. These days, Countess, every cabbage has its pimp.

I believe in the gods. Or rather I believe that I believe in the gods. But I don't believe that they are great brooding presences watching over us I believe they are completely absent-minded.

The flower is the poetry of reproduction. It is the example of the eternal seductiveness of life.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.

I forgot they were talking about me. They sound so wonderfully convincing.