There are women whose love only ends with death.
~ Georges Rodenbach
Can there be anything more sad than a girl dying on the day of her first communion, in her new dress. A little bride of death...
As he walked, the sad faded leaves were driven pitilessly around him by the wind, and under the mingling influences of autumn and evening, a craving for the quietude of the grave … overtook him with unwanted intensity.
The main thing for inner contentment is to be in a state of grace. And there is an artistic state of grace, for art is a kind of religion.
The pale water which goes away along paths of silence.
...without knowing why, he yielded to the temptation of those lips and flung onto them, eating them, partaking of their sacrament... Eucharist of love with a red host!
Oh, the joy of the arrival of a child, which is both the one and the other, a mirror in which husband and wife, who love each other, can see each other in one single face.
