Until The Day Of His

The True Masters Of The Art Of Living Are Already Happy.

A Happy Love Is Full Of Quarrels, You Know.

Beauty, Real Beauty, Is Something Very Grave. If There Is A God, He Must Be Partly That.

Obligations, Hatreds, Injuries; What Did I Expect My Memories To Be? I Was Forgetting Remorse. Now I Have A Complete Past.

With God, What Is Terrible Is That One Never Knows Whether It's Not Just A Trick Of The Devil.