Puns are the droppings of soaring wits.
Genius is rare because the means of becoming one have not been available
Conscience is God present in man.
It is the end. But of what? The end of France? No. The end of kings? Yes.
She might have melted a heart of stone, but nothing can melt a heart of wood.
When two mouths, made sacred by love, draw near to each other to create, it is impossible, that above that ineffable kiss there should not be a thrill in the immense mystery of the stars.