All Poetry Like Every Work Of Art

The Most Virtuous Women Have Within Them Something That Is Never Chaste.

Nowhere But In France Are People So Strictly Observant Of Great Matters And So Disdainfully Indulgent About Small Ones.

Women See Everything Or Nothing According To The Inclination Of Their Hearts. Love Is Their Sole Light.

Chance, My Dear, Is The Sovereign Deity In Child-bearing.

If The Artist Does Not Fling Himself, Without Reflecting, Into His Work, As Curtis Flung Himself Into The Yawning Gulf, As The Soldier Flings Himself Into The Enemy's Trenches, And If, Once In This Crater, He Does Not Work Like A Miner On Whom The Walls Of His Gallery Have Fallen In; If He Contemplates Difficulties Instead Of Overcoming Them One By One ... He Is Simply Looking On At The Suicide Of His Own Talent.