Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
Gustave Flaubert… Her heart remained empty once more, and the procession of days all alike began again. So they were going to follow one another, like this, in line, always identical, innumerable, bringing nothing!
Gustave FlaubertNothing is more humiliating than to see idiots succeed in enterprises we have failed in.
Gustave Flaubert