Page [118]

Flesh of the woman, ideal clay; oh sublime penetration of the spirit in the slime; matter, where the soul shines through its shroud; clay, where one sees the fingers of the divine sculptor; august dust, which draws kisses, and the heart of man; so holy that one does not know—so entirely is love the conqueror, so entirely is the soul drawn—whether this passion is not a divine thought; so holy that one cannot, in the hour when the senses are on fire, hold beauty without embracing God!

Page [181]

We never see but one side of things—the other is plunged in night and mystery. Man suffers the effect without knowing the cause. All that he sees is short, useless, and fleeting.

Page [186]

As when, in taking flight, the bird bends the branch, so his soul had bruised his body.

INDEX


TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES