Being in love is something like poetry. Certainly, you can analyze and expound its various senses and intentions, but there is always something left over, mysteriously hovering between music and meaning.
The sacrifice of pleasures is of course itself a pleasure.
Beware the ire of the calm.
Frankness is usually a euphemism for rudeness.
She wasn't a person to whom things happen. She did all the happenings.
everything happens to an artist; time is always redeemed, nothing is lost and wonders never cease.