"To give thanks in solitude is enough. Thanksgiving has wings and goes where it must go. Your prayer ..." — Victor Hugo

How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit of the hill? A kiss, and all was said.

Sorrow is a fruit. God does not make it grow on limbs too weak to bear it.

Jesus wept; Voltaire smiled. From that divine tear and from that human smile is derived the grace of present civilization.

Love is a portion of the soul itself, and it is of the same nature as the celestial breathing of the atmosphere of paradise.