No Human Being Can Control Love, And

I Know That I Have Found Fulfillment. I Have An Object In Life, A Task ... A Passion.

We Do Not Precisely Enjoy Liberty At The Figaro. M. De Latouche, Our Worthy Director (ah! You Should Know The Fellow), Is Always Hanging Over Us, Cutting, Pruning, Right Or Wrong, Imposing Upon Us His Whims, His Aberrations, His Fancies, And We Have To Write As He Bids.

As Far As I Am Concerned I Would Rather Spend The Rest Of My Life In Prison Than Marry Again.

One Wastes So Much Time, One Is So Prodigal Of Life, At Twenty! Our Days Of Winter Count For Double. That Is The Compensation Of The Old.

Lying, Like License, Has Its Degrees.