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"I did that," says my memory. "I could not have done that," says my pride, and remains inexorable. Eventually—the memory yields.
The maturity of man—that means, to have reacquired the seriousness that one had as a child at play.
"Dans le veritable amour c'est I l'ame qui enveloppe le corps."
"I ekte kjærlighet er det sjelen som omslutter kroppen."
One loves ultimately one's desires, not the thing desired.
The familiarity of superiors embitters one, because it may not be returned.