A breath of Paris preserves the soul.

First problem. To produce wealth. Second problem. To distribute it.

Nothing is more imminent than the impossible . . . what we must always foresee is the unforeseen.

The sunshine was delightful, the foliage gently astir, more from the activity of birds than from the breeze. One gallant little bird, doubtless lovelorn, was singing his heart out at the top of a tall tree.

Paris is a sum total. Paris is the ceiling of the human race. All this prodigious city is an epitome of dead and living manners and customs. He who sees Paris, seems to see all history through with the sky and constellations in the intervals.

The paradise of the rich is made out of the hell of the poor.

A fall from such a height is rarely straight downwards.