The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
In heaven, all the interesting people are missing.
Genteel women suppose that those things do not really exist about which it is...
Behind all their personal vanity women themselves always have an impersonal...
There is no reciprocity. Men love women. Women love children. Children...
Loving, like prayer, is a power as well as a process. It’s curative....
The very essence of romance is uncertainty.
