Love Is The Most Selfish Of All

We Are Always In A Hurry To Be Happy...; For When We Have Suffered A Long Time, We Have Great Difficulty In Believing In Good Fortune.

I Have Always Had More Dread Of A Pen, A Bottle Of Ink, And A Sheet Of Paper Than Of A Sword Or Pistol.

What I’ve Loved Most After You, Is Myself: That Is, My Dignity And That Strength Which Made Me Superior To Other Men. That Strength Was My Life. You’ve Broken It With A Word, So I Must Die.

Does The Open Wound In Another's Breast Soften The Pain Of The Gaping Wound In Our Own? Or Does The Blood Which Is Welling From Another Man's Side Staunch That Which Is Pouring From Our Own? Does The General Anguish Of Our Fellow Creatures Lessen Our Own Private And Particular Anguish? No, No, Each Suffers On His Own Account, Each Struggles With His Own Grief, Each Sheds His Own Tears.

To Be A Woman Condemned To A Wretched And Disgraceful Punishment Is No Impediment To Beauty, But It Is An Insurmountable Obstacle To Power. Like All Persons Of Real Genius, Her Ladyship Well Knew What Accorded With Her Nature And Her Means. Poverty Disgusted Her -subjection Deprived Her Of Two-thirds Of Her Greatness. Her Ladyship Was Only A Queen Amongst Queens: The Enjoyment Of Satisfied Pride Was Essential To Her Sway. To Command Beings Of An Inferior Nature, Was, To Her, Rather A Humiliation Than A Pleasure.