en

Honoré de Balzac

    b2140623215has quotedlast year
    Letter 10
    June 1835
    MY BELOVED ANGEL,

    I am nearly mad about you, as much as one can be mad: I cannot bring together two ideas that you do not interpose yourself between them.

    I can no longer think of nothing but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you. I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you, a thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me.

    As for my heart, there you will always be — very much so. I have a delicious sense of you there. But my God, what is to become of me, if you have de‍
    302 Rizvi Khadijahas quoted3 months ago
    What, then, is the dominating impulse in this country without morals, without faith, without any sentiment, wherein, however, every sentiment, belief, and moral has its origin and end? It is gold and pleasure.
    302 Rizvi Khadijahas quoted3 months ago
    You are always acceptable to this world, you will never be missed by it.
    b8985994640has quotedlast year
    deck out thought,
    deeahas quoted2 months ago
    To seek for pleasure is it not to find ennui?
    deeahas quoted2 months ago
    If a few men of character indulge in witticism, at once subtle and refined, they are misunderstood; soon,
    deeahas quoted2 months ago
    do you understand? to conceive one of those desires which eat the heart, which are forgotten because of the impossibility of satisfying them, because women in Paris are commonly without tenacity.
    deeahas quoted2 months ago
    He feared him, and his fear, although imperceptible, reacted upon the others, and was of use to De Marsay.
    deeahas quoted2 months ago
    She is the original of that ravishing picture called La Femme Caressant sa Chimere, the warmest, the most infernal inspiration of the genius of antiquity; a holy poem prostituted by those who have copied it for frescoes and mosiacs; for a heap of bourgeois who see in this gem nothing more than a gew-gaw and hang it on their watch-chains—whereas, it is the whole woman, an abyss of pleasure into which one plunges and finds no end;
    deeahas quoted2 months ago
    then he went off, smoking his cigar, and putting his hands in his trousers' pockets with a devil-may-care air which did him small honor.
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