If It Is Ones Lot To Be

Hatred Is Blind; Rage Carries You Away; And He Who Pours Out Vengeance Runs The Risk Of Tasting A Bitter Draught.

I Came To Paris With Four écus In My Pocket, And I’d Have Fought With Anybody Who Told Me I Was In No Condition To Buy The Louvre.

That Is A Dream Also; Only He Has Remained Asleep, While You Have Awakened; And Who Knows Which Of You Is The Most Fortunate?

And Now, Farewell To Kindness, Humanity And Gratitude... I Have Substituted Myself For Providence In Rewarding The Good; May The God Of Vengeance Now Yield Me His Place To Punish The Wicked.

I Know What Happiness And What Despair Are, And I Never Make A Jest Of Such Feelings. Take It, Then, But In Exchange —