She wavers, she hesitates; in one word — she is a woman.
Hell, covering all with its gloomy vapors, has cast shadows on even the holiest eyes.
A tragedy need not have blood and death; it's enough that it all be filled with that majestic sadness that is the pleasure of tragedy.
Love is not a fire to be shut up in a soul. Everything betrays us: voice, silence, eyes; half-covered fires burn all the brighter.
I can hear those glances that you think are silent.
There are no secrets that time does not reveal.