My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.

You must believe me when I believe, and not when I doubt.

Take it, and turn to facts my fantasies.

To offend is my pleasure; I love to be hated.

She is a mortal danger without meaning to be one; she's exquisite without giving ita thought; shes a trap set by nature, a rose in which love lies in ambush! Anyone who has seen her smile has known perfection. She creates grace without movement and makes all divinity fit into her slightest gesture. And neither Venus in her shell, nor Diana striding in the great, blossoming forest, can compare to her when she goes through the streets of paris in her sedan chair.

A kiss is a rosy dot placed on the "i" in loving.

It is at night that faith in light is admirable.