“Then came upon a world in ruins an anxious youth. The children were drops of burning blood which had inundated the earth; they were born in the bosom of war, for war. For fifteen years they had dreamed of the… — Alfred De Musset Copy Share Image
Alas, everything that men say to one another is alike; the ideas they exchange are almost always the same, in their conversation. But inside… — Alfred de Musset Copy Share Image
A lively retrospect summons back to us once more our youth, with vivid reflex of its early joys and unstained pleasures. — Alfred de Musset Copy Share Image
“During the wars of the Empire, while husbands and brothers were in Germany, anxious mothers gave birth to an ardent, pale, and neurotic generation. Conceived between battles, reared amid the noises of war, thousands of children looked about them with dull eyes while testing their limp muscles. From time to time their blood-stained fathers would appear, raise them to their… — Alfred De Musset Copy Share
I don't know where my road is going, but I know that I walk better when I hold your hand. — Alfred de Musset Copy Share Image
“As soon as we entered I plunged into the giddy whirl of the waltz. That delightful exercise has always been dear to me; I know of nothing more beautiful, more worthy of a beautiful woman and a young man; all dances compared with the waltz are but insipid conventions or pretexts for insignificant converse. It is truly to possess a… — Alfred De Musset Copy Share
As all the perfumes of the vanished dayRise from the earth still moistened with the dewSo from my chastened soul beneath thy rayOld love… — Alfred de Musset Copy Share Image
It was one of those somber evenings when the sighing of the wind resembles the moans of a dying man; a storm was brewing, and between the splashes of rain on the windows there was the silence of death. All nature suffers in such moments; the trees writhe in pain and twist their heads; the birds of the fields cower… — Alfred de Musset Copy Share
“Your name, merely your name, floods my brain to a point of sweet disgust.” — Alfred De Musset Copy Share Image
Partake of love as a temperate man partakes of wine; do not become intoxicated. — Alfred de Musset Copy Share Image
