Smokers, male and female, inject and excuse idleness in their lives every time they light a cigarette.
Voluptuaries, consumed by their senses, always begin by flinging themselves with a great display of frenzy into an abyss. But they survive, they come to the surface again. And they develop a routine of the abyss: It's four o clock. At five I have my abyss.
In the matter of furnishing, I find a certain absence of ugliness far worse than ugliness.
I did not look for her, because I was afraid of dispelling the mystery we attach to people whom we know only casually.
beautiful December grapes, blue as plums, every grape a little skinful of sweet, tasteless water
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