Love, that is all I asked, a little love, daily, twice daily, fifty years of twice daily love like a Paris horse-butcher's regular, what normal woman wants affection?
I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
To restore silence is the role of objects.
It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.
To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.
How time flies when one has fun!