In the extreme hour of joy or agony we formulate no
impressions; we only feel. We neither analyse nor describe our
friends or enemies when face to face with them, but after we leave
their presence. When the day came that she could write, some of her
reflections were thus epitomised:
Love which rises from the grave to comfort us, possesses more of the
demons' than the angels' power. It terrifies us with its
supernatural qualities and deprives us temporarily of our reason.
Suppressed steam and suppressed emotion are dangerous things to deal
with.
The infant who wants its mother's breast, and the woman who wants her
lover's arms, are poor subjects to reason with. Though you tell the
former that fever has poisoned the mother's milk, or the latter that
destruction lies in the lover's embrace, one heeds you no more than
the other.
The accumulated knowledge of ages is sometimes revealed by a kiss.
Where wisdom is bliss, it is folly to be ignorant.
Some of us have to crucify our hearts before we find our souls.
A woman cannot fully know charity until she has met passion; but too
intimate an acquaintance with the latter destroys her appreciation of
all the virtues.
To feel temptation and resist it, renders us liberal in our judgment
of all our kind. To yield to it, fills us with suspicion of all.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157