There is still a certain grace in a dead festival. It has been happy.
He who despairs is wrong. Progress infallibly awakens, and, in short, we might say that it advances even in sleep, for it has grown.
A breath of Paris preserves the soul.
Do not economize on the hymeneal rites; do not prune them of their splendor, nor split farthings on the day when you are radiant. A wedding is not house-keeping.
I wanted to see you again, touch you, know who you were, see if I would find you identical with the ideal image of you which had remained with me and perhaps shatter my dream with the aid of reality.
He was troubled; this brain, so limpid in its blindness, had lost its transparency; there was a cloud in this crystal.