Perseverance, Secret Of All Triumphs.

To Breathe Paris Is To Preserve One's Soul.

A Faith Is A Necessity To A Man. Woe To Him Who Believes In Nothing.

There Are No Weeds, And No Worthless Men. There Are Only Bad Farmers.

Spira, Spera. (breathe, Hope)

Jean Prouvaire Was Timid Only In Repose. Once Excited, He Burst Forth, A Sort Of Mirth Accentuated His Enthusiasm, And He Was At Once Both Laughing And Lyric.