All Poetry Like Every Work Of Art

A Letter Is A Soul, So Faithful An Echo Of The Speaking Voice That To The Sensitive It Is Among The Richest Treasures Of Love.

A Lui La Foi, A' Elle Le Doute, A' Elle Le Fardeau Le Plus Lourd: La Femme Ne Souffre-t-elle Pas Toujours Pour Deux? For Him, Faith; For Her, Doubt And For Her Theheavier Load: Does Not The Woman Always Suffer For Both?

Self-interest Is An Ineffable Feeling Which Shall Follow Us Into God's Very Presence Since They Say There Is A Hierarchy Even Among The Holy Saints.

We Flew Back Home Like Swallows. 'is It Happiness That Makes Us So Light?' Agathe Asked.

Many Of Us Marvel At The Icy Insensitivity With Which Women Snuff Out Their Armours. But If They Did Not Blot Out The Past In This Manner, Life For Them Would Lose All Dignity And They Could Never Resist The Fatal Familiarities To Which They Once Submitted.