Glory Is A Poison, Good To Be

A Vocation Is Born To Us All; Happily Most Of Us Meet Promptly Our Twin,--occupation.

Six Weeks With A Fever Is An Eternity.

I Yield To Your Wishes. It Is The Privilege Of The Women Whom We Love More Than They Love Us To Make The Men Who Love Them Ignore The Ordinary Rules Of Common-sense.

Neither The Passions Not Justice Nor Politics Nor The Great Social Forces Ever Consider The Victims They Strike.

What Is A Child, Monsieur, But The Image Of Two Beings, The Fruit Of Two Sentiments Spontaneously Blended?