Whoever Has Loved Once, Knows

And I Refused To Make Any Sacrifices; For Nothing On Earth Seemed More Valuable Than My Peace Of Mind, My Pleasure And My Acclaim.

I Loved [fairy Stories] So, And My Mother Weighed Down By Grief Had Given Up Telling Me Them. At Nohant I Found Mmes. D'ardony's And Perrault's Tales In Old Editions Which Became My Chief Joy For Five Or Six Years ... I've Never Read Them Since, But I Could Tell Each Tale Straight Through, And I Don't Think Anything In All One's Intellecutal Life Can Be Compared To These Delights Of Imagination.

It Is Quite Wrong To Think Of Old Age As A Downward Slope. On The Contrary, One Climbs Higher And Higher With The Ad-vancing Years, And That, Too With Sur-prising Strides. Brain-work Comes As Easily To The Old As Physical Exertion To The Child. One Is Moving, It Is True, Towards The End Of Life, But That End Is Now A Goal, And Not A Reef In Which The Vessel May Be Dashed.

I Have No Enthusiasm For Nature Which The Slightest Chill Will Not Instantly Destroy.

We Do Not Precisely Enjoy Liberty At The Figaro. M. De Latouche, Our Worthy Director (ah! You Should Know The Fellow), Is Always Hanging Over Us, Cutting, Pruning, Right Or Wrong, Imposing Upon Us His Whims, His Aberrations, His Fancies, And We Have To Write As He Bids.