I had a friend, a companion of my own age, who, when he was twenty, had loved a young girl. He was poor, she was rich. Her family separated them. The girl married some one else and almost immediately afterward she died. My friend lived. Some day you will know for yourself that it is almost as true to say that one recovers from all things as that there is nothing which does not leave its scar. I had been the confidant of his serious passion, and I became the confidant of the various affairs that followed that first ineffaceable disappointment. He felt, he inspired, other loves. He tasted other joys. He endured other sorrows, and yet when we were alone and when we touched upon those confidences that come from the heart's depths, the girl who was the ideal of his twentieth year reappeared in his words. How many times he has said to me, "In others I have always looked for her and as I have never found her, I have never truly loved any one but her."
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Pierre Fauchery, as quoted by the character "Jules Labarthe"Paul Bourget
My friend returned to the gallery, looked once more at the adorable imprint of the most innocent, the most passionate of caresses. A mirror hung near by, where he could compare his present with his former face, the man he was with the man he had been. He never told me and I never asked what his feelings were at that moment. Did he feel that he was too culpable to have inspired a passion in a young girl whom he would have been a fool, almost a criminal, to marry? Did he comprehend that through his age which was so apparent, it was his youth which this child loved? Did he remember, with a keenness that was all too sad, that other, who had never given him a kiss like that at a time when he might have returned it? I only know that he left the same day, determined never again to see one whom he could no longer love as he had loved the other, with the hope, the purity, the soul of a man of twenty.
Paul Bourget
The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.
Guy de Maupassant
I want to share with you a couple of the kinds of letters I've been getting ...
Dear Ysabella, My friend is hurting themselves. I'd like to know if I should tell someone about this, because I don't want my friend to be mad at me.
Ok, I don't care if your friend is mad at you — I don't want them to be dead! You need to spread the word — they've let you know — you need to talk to a family member you can trust of theirs, someone at school, someone at work — you need to talk to somebody that can get them some help. Because I'd rather they be mad at me and not want to be my friend — and alive — than anything else, ok?
... The second letter:
My boyfriend is hitting me ... how can I break up with him without being mean?
... Now, when someone's looking for a doormat, they don't care whether it's mean or nice — they just want to know 'can they wipe their feet on it?' ... The next time you see a little girl ... imagine if she was in the situation you are in. What would want for her, really? If that breaks your heart, remember in that moment that you are as valuable, and as cherished, and as loved, and as important as any woman on this planet. ... Stand up for yourself — don't be afraid to expect to be treated like a human being.Ysabella Brave
If I were to imagine a girl deeply in love and some man who wanted to use all his reasoning powers and knowledge to ridicule her passion, well, there's surely no question of the enamoured girl having to choose between keeping her wealth and being ridiculed. No, but if some extremely cool and calculating man calmly told the young girl, "I will explain to you what love is," and the girl admitted that everything he told her was quite correct, I wonder if she wouldn't choose his miserable common sense rather than her wealth?
Soren Aabye Kierkegaard
Look at the girl I did Urban Legends with, my last big hit, in '98. One of the girls in that, Alicia Witt — who was on the TV series, Cybill — she without a doubt did the best work on television last year when she guest-starred on the most difficult show to guest star on, which was The Sopranos. She played a non-Italian mafia type on The Sopranos — she was the best thing in the hour. To me, this girl is outstanding. This girl has movie star potential. Now, she was in Cecil B. Demented. I'm just amazed she's not a much bigger star already — not out of any disappointment in Alicia. But I just can't believe the town hasn't just sort of like scooped her up and made her as much of an "It Girl" as, for instance, Goldie Hawn's daughter or Gwyneth Paltrow, because I think this girl is really — and she's also genuinely funny in a wonderful, sexy, screwball comedy way.
Alicia Witt
Bourget, Paul
Bourgois, Philippe
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