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Until the day of his death, no man can be sure of his courage.
Love is, above all else, the gift of oneself.
JEAN ANOUILH, L'homme et la mort dans l'histoire
Everything ends this way in France. Weddings, christenings, duels, burials, swindlings, affairs of state -- everything is a pretext for a good dinner.
I spit on your happiness! I spit on your idea of life--that life that must go on, come what may. You are like dogs that lick everything they smell. You with your promise of a humdrum happiness--provided a person doesn't ask too much of life. I want everything of life, I do; and I want it now! I want it total, complete: otherwise I reject it! I will not be moderate. I will not be satisfied with the bit of cake you offer me.
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