I Have Come Too Late

Life Is A Sleep, Love Is A Dream; And You Have Lived If You Have Loved.

I See That You Believe In Love Such As The Poets And Romancers Have Represented... The Poets Represent Love As The Sculptors Design Beauty, As The Musicians Create Melody; That Is To Say, Endowed With An Exquisite Nervous Organization, They Gather Up With Discerning Ardor The Purest Elements Of Life, The Most Beautiful Lines Of Matter, And The Most Harmonious Voices Of Nature.... To Try To Find In Real Life Such Love As This, Eternal And Absolute, Is The Same Thing As To Seek On The Public Squares Such A Woman As Venus Or To Expect Nightingales To Sing The Symphonies Of Beethoven.

The Heart That Once Has Been Your Shrine For Other Loves Is Too Divine

Few Persons Enjoy Real Liberty; We Are All Slaves To Ideas Or Habits.

If Love Is A Play, This Play, As Old As The World, Fiasco Or Not, It Is, All In All, The Least Bad Thing That Has So Far Been Found. The Roles Are Trite, I Admit, But If The Play Had No Value The Whole Universe Wouldn’t Know It By Heart