I can no longer think of anything but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you. I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you, a thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me. – Honore de Balzac, letter to Evelina Hanska, June 1836
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When a mans life is destroyed or damaged by some wound or privation of soul or body, which is due to other mens actions or negligence, it is not only his sensibility that suffers but also his aspiration toward the good. Therefore there has been sacrilege towards that which is sacred in him. – Simone Weil
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