I'm a poor nurse. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet. \" She replied to him, looking into his blue eyes. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. "Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan. ] "So much the better.
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