A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to rot on the ground by himself. — Emile Zola
A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to rot on the ground by himself.
Source: Wikiquote · CC BY-SA 4.0
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Like those antique monsters whose redoubtable domains were covered with skeletons, she rested her feet on human skulls. She was ringed round with catastrophes.
Foucarmont had twice fought duels, and he was in consequence most politely treated, and admitted into every circle.
Existence is so bitter for every one of us! Ought we not to forgive others much, my friend, if we wish to merit forgiveness ourselves?
