One can no more keep the mind from returning to an idea than the sea from returning to a shore. For a sailor, this is called the tide; in the case of the guilty it is called remorse. God stirs up the soul as well as the ocean.
It is the end. But of what? The end of France? No. The end of kings? Yes.
A writer is a world trapped in a person.
The rich's paradise was created by the poor's hell.
If you want to civilize a man, begin with his grandmother.
France lost a great novel last night.