There Is Nothing Original; All Is Reflected

Holding This Book In Your Hand, Sinking Back In Your Soft Armchair, You Will Say To Yourself: Perhaps It Will Amuse Me. And After You Have Read This Story Of Great Misfortunes, You Will No Doubt Dine Well, Blaming The Author For Your Own Insensitivity, Accusing Him Of Wild Exaggeration And Flights Of Fancy. But Rest Assured: This Tragedy Is Not A Fiction. All Is True.

Though The Human Heart May Have To Pause For Rest When Climbing The Heights Of Affection It Rarely Stops On The Slippery Slope Of Hatred.

The Questioning Spirit Is The Rebellious Spirit. A Rebellion Is Always Either A Cloak To Hide A Prince, Or The Swaddling Wrapper Of A New Rule.

To Feel, To Love, To Suffer, To Devote Herself, Will Always Be The Text Of The Life Of Woman.

To Have One's Mother-in-law In The Country When One Lives In Paris, And Vice Versa, Is One Of Those Strokes Of Luck That One Encounters Only Too Rarely.