A Poor Man With Nothing In His

I Have Just Discovered Something I Have Always Known: We Can No More Escape From One Another Than We Can Escape From God.

What A Cunning Mixture Of Sentiment, Pity, Tenderness, Irony Surrounds Adolescence, What Knowing Watchfulness! Young Birds On Their First Flight Are Hardly So Hovered Around.

What Does The Truth Matter? Haven't We Mothers All Given Our Sons A Taste For Lies, Lies Which From The Cradle Upwards Lull Them, Reassure Them, Send Them To Sleep: Lies As Soft And Warm As A Breast!

God! How Is It That We Fail To Recognize That The Mask Of Pleasure, Stripped Of All Hypocrisy, Is That Of Anguish?

Like All Truly Pure Souls She [chantal] Quickly Resigned Herself To Past Faults, Thought Only Of How To Repair Whatever Harm They Had Done. "of All My Daughters, You Are Certainly The Least Bothered By Scruples Of Conscience," Abbé Chevance Used To Say.... Even Sin, Once The Will Is Detached And No Longer Nourishes It, Withers And Dies Sterile. It Is In The Secret Of Intentions, Like In A Decomposing Humus, In The Dark Forest Of Future Sins, Unpardoned Sins, Half Dead, Half Living, That New Poisons Are Distilled.