French Writer and Aristocrat
Madame de Sévigné, Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, marquise de Sévigné
French Writer and Aristocrat
Ah! as you say, we should slip over many thoughts and act as though we did not perceive them.
If you take this state for a long time, my life would be nice too,. Sorrows, but soon they come back, it should enjoy it while it lasts
Sweetheart, you are so praying to run to time, and you soon see each other, not sure what to do, and then carefully take a knock: Time willingly disobey, but also what skills and when they want to be of no consequence to him. At the time, I fell into this trap, and then regretted it,., And although I was not wearing it at the time, like others, deprived thousands of small pleasure, too ‚szrev‚tetve, depends on how quickly
Blather, do not you, my little one, but if you change it to fold to love yourself to just be yourself thinking that only the care that is related to you, you're my life sweetness that never anyone not love so much: it's the repetition bore himself.
I'm here in my room, all alone, I am glad so that you can safely do I, which is the best state.
The human heart will never wrinkle.
But the truth is there in your heart.
In all nations truth is the most sublime, the most simple, the most difficult, and yet the most natural thing.
The letters you read and you write, this is the most I do, everything else takes a back seat occupation, nothing phenomenon appears next to it. The one who loves you, like me, found the superficial affection for each other.
Exceedingly glad to pregnant, my heart: thank you, and thankfully Mr Grignan. Then enter your wondering what might account for the benefit of ”nm‚rs‚klet‚nek or true feelings of your application and whether you're not happy whether it can come and go for a while, and you can walk in the Provence, between the orange trees, and when we will be together, no need to worry about falling over and give birth.
Ingratitude calls forth reproaches as gratitude brings renewed kindnesses.
The world has no long injustices.
Fortune is always on the side of the largest battalions.
It is my heart.
There is no one who does not represent a danger to someone.
Have mercy on me, take care of yourself, if you value your life. So convincingly asserted that likes to hope, at least for my sake will beware of danger.
It is now more or less, if need be, I can pull myself together, and sometimes four or five hours is all that I behave like another, but nothing put back the former state I: a memory location or a word, a little reflection, and mainly for its leaves, even mine, when I write them, someone who talks about himself:. many cliff, which shatters the self-control, and that there are plenty cliff
Thicken your religion a little. It is evaporating altogether by being subtilized.
He says he would be happy if just once they enter the room and hear him speak. Not to mention that I would like to see or hear you, they want to talk to you! Real obsession is with me, unceasing torment myself with it and BANVELR mind that at the time I did not look, do not listen to you satisfy and it seems to me, not really wasted the opportunities, all the same, I cannot calm down, I'm crazy, that's the plain truth, but the bolonds gomat itself bound to love. I do not understand how someone could be so much to think about. Well, you never run out of these thoughts? Never, but when I no longer think about.
It is only up to you, fills my life in joy or pain; himself know, and everyone else strange. My brain is close to some of the same things, but my heart only knows one. All this can determine how sensitive and vulnerable I am, and you could feel when unjustly marginalized by his own heart.
We like so much to talk of ourselves that we are never weary of those private interviews with a lover during the course of whole years, and for the same reason the devout like to spend much time with their confessor; it is the pleasure of talking of themselves even though it be to talk ill.
Heaven bless you, my dear, beloved child: you can love someone so much
It is the fine rain that soaks us through.
We satisfied ourselves the other day that there was no real ill in life except severe bodily pain; everything else is the child of the imagination, and depends on our thoughts; all other ills find a remedy, either from time or moderation, or strength of mind.
I bet that cell has no idea how much I love her.