Books Follow Morals, And Not Morals Books.

Good Heavens! What A Foolish Thing Is This Pretended Perfectibility Of The Human Race Which Is Continually Being Dinned Into Our Ears!

The Years I Have Squandered In Puerile Excitement, In Going Hither And Thither, In Seeking To Force Nature And Time, I Ought To Have Spent In Solitude And Meditation, In Endeavoring To Make Myself Worthy Of Being Loved.

Sometimes He Will Sit On The Carpet In Front Of You, Looking At You With Eyes So Melting, So Caressing And So Human, That They Almost Frighten You, For It Is Impossible To Believe That A Soul Is Not There.

Once [a Cat] Has Given Its Love, What Absolute Confidence, What Fidelity Of Affection!

Eyes So Transparent That Through Them The Soul Is Seen.