tery, woman.

All of us, whoever we may be, have our respirable beings. We lack
air and we stifle. Then we die. To die for lack of love is horrible.
Suffocation of the soul.

When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic
unity, the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are
concerned; they are no longer anything more than the two boundaries of
the same destiny; they are no longer anything but the two wings of the
same spirit. Love, soar.

On the day when a woman as she passes before you emits light as she
walks, you are lost, you love. But one thing remains for you to do: to
think of her so intently that she is constrained to think of you.

What love commences can be finished by God alone.

True love is in despair and is enchanted over a glove lost or a
handkerchief found, and eternity is required for its devotion and its
hopes. It is composed both of the infinitely great and the infinitely
little.

If you are a stone, be adamant; if you are a plant, be the sensitive
plant; if you are a man, be love.

Nothing suffices for love. We have happiness, we desire paradise; we
possess paradise, we desire heaven.

Oh ye who love each other, all this is contained in love. Understand
how to find it there. Love has contemplation as well as heaven, and more
than heaven, it has voluptuousness.

"Does she still come to the Luxembourg?" "No, sir." "This is the church
where she attends mass, is it not?" "She no longer comes here." "Does
she still live in this house?" "She has moved away." "Where has she gone
to dwell?"

"She did not say."

What a melancholy thing not to know the address of one's soul!

Love has its childishness, other passions have their pettinesses. Shame
on the passions which belittle man! Honor to the one which makes a child
of him!

There is one strange thing, do you know it? I dwell in the night. There
is a being who carried off my sky when she went away.

Oh! would that we were lying side by side in the same grave, hand
in hand, and from time to time, in the darkness, gently caressing a
finger,--that would suffice for my eternity!

Ye who suffer because ye love, love yet more. To die of love, is to live
in it.

Love. A sombre and starry transfiguration is mingled with this torture.
There is ecstasy in agony.

Oh joy of the birds! It is because they have nests that they sing.

Love is a celestial respiration of the air of paradise.