The Soul Does Not Give Itself Up

Revery, Which Is Thought In Its Nebulous State, Borders Closely Upon The Land Of Sleep, By Which It Is Bounded As By A Natural Frontier.

It Is An Unpleasant Thing To Go To Bed Without Supper, It Is A Still Less Pleasant Thing Not To Sup And Not To Know Where One Is To Sleep.

My Tastes Are Aristocratic, My Actions Democratic.

Slaves Would Be Tyrants Were The Chance Theirs.

The Most Ferocious Animals Are Disarmed By Caresses To Their Young.