Then a faintness came over her; she recalled the Viscount who had waltzed with her at Vaubyessard, and his beard exhaled like this air an odour of vanilla and citron, and mechanically she half-closed...
The hearts of women are like those little pieces of furniture with secret hiding - places, full of drawers fitted into each other; you go to a lot of trouble, break your nails, and in the bottom find...
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...
Surely it could not have been a dove God had chosen to speak through, since doves could not talk.
She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague she of all the poetry books.
She put him near the front door and a number of visitors were surprised that he would not answer to the name 'Polly', which is what all parrots were supposed to be called.
Se lăuda că își cunoaște limba și purica cele mai frumoase fraze cu acea severitate haină, acel gust academic care caracterizează persoanele zvăpăiate cînd se ocupă de arta serioasă./ Il se vantait de...
Posseïa aquella bellesa indefinible que resulta de la joia, de l'entusiasme, de l'èxit, i que no és sinó una conjunció harmoniosa de les circumstàncies i del temperament.
Poor human weakness! With your words, your languages, your sounds, you speak and stammer—you define God, the heaven and the earth, chemistry and philosophy, and you cannot express, with your language,...
Maybe happiness too is a metaphor invented on a day of boredom
Il faut mettre son cœur dans l'art, son esprit dans le commun du monde, son corps où il se trouve bien, sa bourse dans sa poche, son espoir nulle part.
I detest common heroes and moderate feelings, the sort that exist in real life
Her great desire, in fact, was to have something more solid, more tangible than love to rely upon.
He took it for granted that she was content; and she resented his settled calm, his serene dullness, the very happiness she herself brought him.
He seriously thought that there is less harm in killing a man than producing a child: in the first case you are relieving someone of life, not his whole life but a half or a quarter or a hundredth par...
He racked his brains for a way of making his declaration. Torn all the while between fear of offending and shame at his own faint-heartedness, he wept tears of dejection and desire. Then he made force...
Fabricando fit faber, age quod agis.
Every notary carries about inside him the debris of a poet.
Emma was no asleep, she was pretending to be asleep; and, while he was dozing off at her side, she lay awake, dreaming other dreams.
Death always brings with it a kind of stupefaction, so difficult is it for the human mind to realize and resign itself to the blank and utter nothingness.