She confused in her desire the sensualities of luxury with the delights of the heart, elegance of manners with delicacy of sentiment. Did not love, like Indian plants, need a special soil,
She wants to be forced to occupy herself with some manual work. If she were obliged, like so many others, to earn her living, she wouldn’t have these vapours, that come to her from a lot of ideas she...
She was as sated with him as he was tired of her. Emma had rediscovered in adultery all the banality of marriage.
The day before yesterday, in the woods of Touques, in a charming spot beside a spring, I found old cigar butts and scraps of pâté. People had been picnicking. I described such a scene in eleven years...
To be simple is no small matter.
To return to antiquity [in literature]: that has been done. To return to the Middle Ages: that too has been done. Remains the present day. But the ground is shaky: so where can you set the foundations...
What was it that thus set so far asunder the morning of the day before yesterday and the evening of to-day?
When she was taken too bad she went off quite alone to the sea-shore, so that the customs officer, going his rounds, often found her lying flat on her face, crying on the shingle. Then, after her marr...
Why was it? Who drove you to it?'She replied, 'It had to be, my dear!''Weren't you happy? Is it my fault? I did all I could!''Yes, that is true — you are good — you.
Servant, the grand duet in D major, all were for
The clang of the band, letting loose, rang out like a brass kettle rolling downstairs,
Încă de mică o cuprinsese una din acele iubiri de copil care au în același timp puritatea unei religii și violența unei necesități./ Toute petite, elle s’était prise d’un de ces amours d’enfant qui on...
İnsan, şeytanın yanına yaklaşmasına izin verdi mi, artık iradesi üzerindeki denetimini kaybeder. Gözleri kapanır; iyiyle kötüyü, doğruyla yanlışı ayıramaz olur.
Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.
When you reduce a woman to writing, she makes you think of a thousand other women
By trying to understand everything, everything makes me dream
Have you really not noticed, then, that here of all places, in this private, personal solitude that surrounds me, I have turned to you? All the memories of my youth speak to me as I walk, just as the...
What a man Balzac would have been if he had known how to write.
Our ignorance of history makes us libel our own times. People have always been like this.
A veces recordamos durante siglos cierto momento que ya no volverá, que ha pasado, que está en la nada para siempre, y por el que pagaríamos en prenda todo nuestro futuro
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