There is no dream of love, however ideal it may be, which does not end up with a fat, greedy baby hanging from the breast.
Life swarms with innocent monsters.
A study of the Great Malady; horror of home.
Genius is nothing more nor less than childhood recaptured at will.
The old Paris is no more (the form of a city changes faster, alas! than a mortal's heart).
Perfumes, colours and sounds echo one another.