In The Presence Of The Storm, Thunderbolts,

It Is An Altogether Wrong Idea That The Modern Product Of Civilization Is Less Susceptible To Love. I Sometimes Think It Is The Other Way.

Life Deserves Laughter, Hence People Laugh At It.

But The French Writers Always Had More Originality And Independence Than Others, And That Regulator, Which Elsewhere Was Religion, Long Since Ceased To Exist For Them.

Nevertheless, In This Sea Of Human Wretchedness And Malice There Bloomed At Times Compassion, As A Pale Flower Blooms In A Putrid Marsh.

The Shots Had Dispersed The Birds; There Remained Only Two Marabous, Standing Between Ten And Twenty Paces Away And Plunged In Reverie. They Were Like Two Old Men With Bald Heads Pressed Between The Shoulders.