Life is a solitary cell whose walls are mirrors.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
O love, if I regret the age when one savors you, it is not for the hour of pleasure, but for the one that follows it.
The mere thought hadn’t even begun to speculate about the merest possibility of crossing my mind.
I know it is all right. I wish I could make you feel so, I wish I could describe my feelings.
I am an intelligent river which has reflected successively all the banks before which it has flowed by meditating only on the images offered by those changing shores.
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