Love, Like Fire, Goes Out Without Fuel.

My Whole Life Has Been Merely A Succession Of Miserable And Unsuccessful Denials Of Feelings Or Reason.

I Have A Congenital Desire To Contradict; My Whole Life Is Merely A Chain Of Sad And Unsuccessful Contradictions To Heart And Mind. When Faced With Enthusiasm, I Am Seized By A Midwinter Freeze, And I Suppose That Frequent Dealings With Sluggish Phlegmatics Would Have Made A Passionate Dreamer.

I Was Modest--they Accused Me Of Being Crafty: I Became Secretive. I Felt Deeply Good And Evil--nobody Caressed Me, Everybody Offended Me: I Became Rancorous. I Was Gloomy--other Children Were Merry And Talkative. I Felt Myself Superior To Them--but Was Considered Inferior: I Became Envious. I Was Ready To Love The Whole World--none Understood Me: And I Learned To Hate.

It Is Sad To See A Young Man's Fondest Hopes And Dreams Shattered When The Rose-colured Veil Is Plucked Away And He Sees The Actions And Feelings Of Men For What They Are. But He Still Has The Hope Of Replacing His Old Illusions With Others, Just As Fleeting, But Also Just As Sweet.

You Men Do Not Understand The Delights Of A Glance, Of A Pressure Of The Hand... But As For Me, I Swear To You That, When I Listen To Your Voice, I Feel Such A Deep, Strange Bliss That The Most Passionate Kisses Could Not Take Its Place.