Masterpieces Are Only Lucky Attempts.

There Is Only One Sex. A Man And A Woman Are So Entirely The Same Thing That One Can Scarcely Understand The Subtle Reasons For Sex Distinctions With Which Our Minds Are Filled.

No One Makes A Revolution By Himself; And There Are Some Revolutions Which Humanity Accomplishes Without Quite Knowing How, Because It Is Everybody Who Takes Them In Hand.

Death Must No Longer Be Either The Penalty For Prosperity Or The Consolation Of Misery. God Did Not Destine It To Be Either The Punishment Or The Compensation For Life.

If They Are Ignorant, They Are Despised, If Learned, Mocked. In Love They Are Reduced To The Status Of Courtesans. As Wives They Are Treated More As Servants Than As Companions. Men Do Not Love Them: They Make Use Of Them, They Exploit Them, And Expect, In That Way, To Make Them Subject To The Law Of Fidelity.

I Love Everything That Makes Up A Milieu, The Rolling Of The Carriages And The Noise Of The Workmen In Paris, The Cries Of A Thousand Birds In The Country, The Movement Of The Ships On The Waters. I Love Also Absolute, Profound Silence, And, In Short, I Love Everything That Is Around Me, No Matter Where I Am.