Whoever Does Not Visit Paris Regularly Will

Love Is The Reduction Of The Universe To The Single Being, And The Expansion Of A Single Being, Even To God

Glory Is The Sunshine Of The Dead

Clouds Signify The Veil Of The Most High.

How Sternly We Reproach Virtue For Its Failings, How Indulgent We Are To The Better Qualities Of Vice!

A Mother's Happiness Is Like A Beacon, Lighting Up The Future But Reflected Also On The Past In The Guise Of Fond Memories.