All We Are Is In The Soul.

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

Are Not Poets Men Who Fulfill Their Hopes Prematurely?

Do You Know What Is The Hardest Thing In Life? To Make A Choice.

Where Poverty Ceases, Avarice Begins.

Genuine Sorrows Are Very Tranquil In Appearance In The Deep Bed They Have Dug For Themselves. But, Seeming To Slumber, They Corrode The Soul Like That Frightful Acid Which Penetrates Crystal.