“Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.”

Reality is never more than a first step towards an unknown on the road to which one can never progress very far.

Nine tenths of the ills from which intelligent people suffer spring from their intellect.

A picture’s beauty does not depend on the things portrayed in it.

We are at times too ready to believe that the present is the only possible state of things.

The creation of the world did not occur at the beginning of time, it occurs every day.

You can’t learn the truth about a man’s intentions by asking him.

All our final decisions are made in a state of mind that is not going to last.

A woman one loves rarely suffices for all our needs, so we deceive her with another whom we do not love.

The time at our disposal each day is elastic; the passions we feel dilate it, those that inspire us shrink it, and habit fills it.

It has been said that beauty is a promise of happiness. Conversely, the possibility of pleasure can be a beginning of beauty.

There comes in all our lives a time, when the ears can listen to no music save what the moonlight breathes through the flute of silence.

Love is a striking example of how little reality means to us.

Your soul is a dark forest. But the trees are of a particular species, they are genealogical trees.

In a separation it is the one who is not really in love who says the more tender things.

We must never be afraid to go too far, for truth lies beyond.

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.

You can take away the pain, but the memories will forever haunt you. Don’t let it devour you, Devour them yourself and stand firm.

The velvet veins running through my deep-colored wings sing blues, remembering the non-existent maple memories, lighting up my heart’s frosty rays.

Memories frozen and denied Flowers of my heart withered and dried.

I suppose therefore that all things I see are illusions; I believe that nothing has ever existed of everything my lying memory tells me.

I feel I am stuck in memories of ours there is no past or the future but a series of moments halted without a given command. And time has stopped making sense.

Maybe our story didn’t end the way we planned but, Neither did the beginning. Regardless, our story will remain as one of my fondest memories.

Now i’m like you, just a memory floating across, this now foreign land.

I’ll keep you mine even when you and I are not ‘US’; and with all our memories, I will pretend that it’s enough.