Nature Distributes Her Favors Unequally.

...je N’ai Pas Cessé De L’être Si C’est D’être Jeune Que D’aimer Toujours !... L’humanité N’est Pas Un Vain Mot. Notre Vie Est Faite D’amour, Et Ne Plus Aimer C’est Ne Plus Vivre." (i Have Never Ceased To Be Young, If Being Young Is Always Loving... Humanity Is Not A Vain Word. Our Life Is Made Of Love, And To Love No Longer Is To Live No Longer.)

Where Love Is Absent There Can Be No Woman.

These Tears Do Me Good, They Have Watered The Parched Place; Perhaps My Heart Will Grow Again There!

I'm Beginning To Believe That There Are Angels Disguised As Men Who Pass Themselves Off As Such And Who Inhabit The Earth For A While To Console And Lift Up With Them Toward Heaven The Poor, Exhausted And Saddened Souls Who Were Ready To Perish Here Below.

The Trade Of Authorship Is A Violent, And Indestructible Obsession.