By Resorting To Self-resignation, The Unfortunate Consummate.

At Fifteen, Neither Beauty Nor Talent Exist: A Woman Is All Promise.

This Coffee Falls Into Your Stomach, And Straightway There Is A General Commotion. Ideas Begin To Move Like The Battalions Of The Grand Army Of The Battlefield, And The Battle Takes Place. Things Remembered Arrive At Full Gallop, Ensuing To The Wind. The Light Cavalry Of Comparisons Deliver A Magnificent Deploying Charge, The Artillery Of Logic Hurry Up With Their Train And Ammunition, The Shafts Of With Start Up Like Sharpshooters. Similes Arise, The Paper Is Covered With Ink; For The Struggle Commences And Is Concluded With Torrents Of Black Water, Just As A Battle With Powder.

When Law Becomes Despotic, Morals Are Relaxed, And Vice Versa.

To Have One's Mother-in-law In The Country When One Lives In Paris, And Vice Versa, Is One Of Those Strokes Of Luck That One Encounters Only Too Rarely.

No Frozen-hearted Woman Ever I Laid Eyes On But Has Made Duty Her Religion.