To Write Is To Become Disinterested. There

When The Body Is Sad, The Heart Languishes.

It Occurred To Me That Anyway One More Sunday Was Over That Maman Was Buried Now, That I Was Going Back To Work, And That, Really, Nothing Had Changed.

What Made Me Run Away Was Doubtless Not So Much The Fear Of Settling Down, But Of Settling Down Permanently In Something Ugly.

It Is A Well-known Fact That We Always Recognize Our Homeland At The Moment We Are About To Lose It.

Rule: Start By Looking For What Is Valid In Every Man.