He who contemplates the depths of Paris is seized with vertigo. Nothing is more fantastic. Nothing is more tragic. Nothing is more sublime.
Intelligence is the wife, imagination is the mistress, memory is the servant.
He reached for his pocket, and found there, only reality
Civilization survives on the constant discovery of amity and an equal supply of damnation.
Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
I was dying when you came.