Revery, which is thought in its nebulous state, borders closely upon the land of sleep, by which it is bounded as by a natural frontier.

Her soul trembled on her lips like a drop of dew on a flower.

To rove about, musing, that is to say loitering, is, for a philosopher, a good way of spending time.

A tempest ceases, a cyclone passes over, a wind dies down, a broken mast can be replaced, a leak can be stopped, a fire extinguished, but what will become of this enormous brute of bronze?

In the Twentieth Century war will be dead, the scaffold will be dead, hatred will be dead, frontier boundaries will be dead, dogmas will be dead; man will live. He will possess something higher than all these-a great country, the whole earth, and a great hope, the whole heaven.

Nothing awakens reminiscence like an aroma.

Promise to give me a kiss on my brow when I am dead.--I shall feel it.