It is nothing to die; it is horrible not to live. — Victor Hugo

Never am I seen with coats bedizened with gold and gems; I leave this false splendour to badly organized minds.

The soul does not give itself up to despair until it has exhausted all illusions.

The night was starless and very dark. Without doubt, in the gloom some mighty angel was standing, with outstretched wings, awaiting the soul.