Thérèse had not reached the age of thirty-five without learning that life presents many insurmountable obstacles which must be accepted, whether with the callousness of philosophy, the revolt of weakness or the dignity of self-respect.

To cry was to release all sorts of ugly little pressures and tensions. Like waking out of a long, dark dream to a sun-filled day.

My dear fellow, who will let you?” “That’s not the point. The point is, who will stop me?

Don't only go for beauty...go for the heart

Written By Desire

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