I pity you!" At that moment, within the space of a flash, she was thinking of me only, and she pities me! She has found something in her grief to give me.
She is silent.

She is seeking the supreme complaint; she is trying to find what there is which is more torturing and more simple; and she stammers--"The truth." The truth is that the love of mankind is a single season among so many others.

The truth is that we have within us something much more mortal than we are, and that it is this, all the same, which is all-important.
Therefore we survive very much longer than we live.

There are things we think we know and which yet are secrets.

Do we really know what we believe?
We believe in miracles.