With this deafening concert thought is impossible; the mind is in a whirl, is seized with vertigo, unable to concentrate itself.

If I have not profited by the early morning hours the day is lost.
Ah! Creature possessed, the plague of my dwelling, which I hoped would be so peaceful!--the Athenians, they say, used to hang you up in a little cage, the better to enjoy your song.

One were well enough, during the drowsiness of digestion; but hundreds, roaring all at once, assaulting the hearing until thought recoils--this indeed is torture! You put forward, as excuse, your rights as the first occupant.

Before my arrival the two plane-trees were yours without reserve; it is I who have intruded, have thrust myself into their shade.

I confess it: yet muffle your cymbals, moderate your arpeggi, for the sake of your historian! The truth rejects what the fabulist tells us as an absurd invention.