But Does Not Happiness Come

I Yield To Your Wishes. It Is The Privilege Of The Women Whom We Love More Than They Love Us To Make The Men Who Love Them Ignore The Ordinary Rules Of Common-sense.

I Can No Longer Think Of Anything But You. In Spite Of Myself, My Imagination Carries Me To You. I Grasp You, I Kiss You, I Caress You, A Thousand Of The Most Amorous Caresses Take Possession Of Me.

An Unfulfilled Vocation Drains The Color From A Man's Entire Existence.

The Habits Of Every Animal Are, At Least In The Eyes Of Man, Constantly Similar In All Ages. But The Habits, The Clothes, The Words And The Dwelling Of A Prince, A Banker, An Artist, A Bourgeois, A Priest And A Pauper, Are Wholly Dissimilar And Change At The Will Of Civilizations.

Holding This Book In Your Hand, Sinking Back In Your Soft Armchair, You Will Say To Yourself: Perhaps It Will Amuse Me. And After You Have Read This Story Of Great Misfortunes, You Will No Doubt Dine Well, Blaming The Author For Your Own Insensitivity, Accusing Him Of Wild Exaggeration And Flights Of Fancy. But Rest Assured: This Tragedy Is Not A Fiction. All Is True.