To Have Lied Is To Have Suffered.

I Have Been Loving You A Little More Every Minute Since This Morning.

M. Mabeuf’s Political Opinion Was A Passionate Fondness For Plants, And A Still Greater One For Books. He Had, Like Everybody Else, His Termination In Ist, Without Which Nobody Could Have Lived In Those Times, But He Was Neither A Royalist, Nor A Bonapartist, Nor A Chartist, Nor An Orleanist, Nor An Anarchist; He Was An Old-bookist.

It Is Grievous For A Man To Leave Behind Him A Shadow In His Own Shape.

Those Who Do Not Weep, Do Not See.

Love Resembles A Tree: It Bends Under Its Own Weight, Deeply Rooted In Our Being And Sometimes Turns Green In The Ruins Of A Heart.