A Joyous Little Creature, So Beautiful, It

The Soul Does Not Give Itself Up To Despair Until It Has Exhausted All Illusions.

Phenomena Intersect; To See But One Is To See Nothing.

Without Vanity, Without Coquetry, Without Curiosity, In A Word, Without The Fall, Woman Would Not Be Woman. Much Of Her Grace Is In Her Frailty.

Tobacco Is The Plant That Converts Thoughts Into Dreams.

It Is The End. But Of What? The End Of France? No. The End Of Kings? Yes.