On Devient Moral De' S Qu'on Est

There Are People Whose Faces Assume An Unaccustomed Beauty And Majesty The Moment They Cease To Look Out Of Their Eyes.

Every Kiss Provokes Another. Oh, In Those Earliest Days Of Love How Naturally The Kisses Spring To Life! So Closely, In Their Profusion, Do They Crowd Together That Lovers Would Find It As Hard To Count The Kisses Exchanged In An Hour As To Count The Flowers In A Meadow In May.

We Are At Times Too Ready To Believe That The Present Is The Only Possible State Of Things.

Beautiful Books Are Always Written In A Sort Of Foreign Language.

Reading Is That Fruitful Miracle Of A Communication In The Midst Of Solitude.