Vanity is as ill at ease under indifference as tenderness is under a love which it cannot return.
Vanity is as ill at ease under indifference as tenderness is under a love which it cannot return.
We conceal it from ourselves in vain – we must always love something. In those matters seemingly removed from love, the feeling is secretly to be found, and man cannot possibly live for a moment without it.
She is Cuba. If you want to love her, you have to be with her, but you can’t be with her in her current state. It’s the point of view of all exiles – you have to leave the thing you cherish most.
It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness and the beginning of peace.
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