Everywhere was silence; a sweetness seemed to exhale from the trees. She could feel her heart as it began to beat anew, she could feel the blood suffusing her whole body like a stream of milk. And then, far, far away, beyond the wood on the hills across the valley, she heard a cry, vague and prolonged, a voice that lingered on the air, and she listened to it in silence, mingling like music with the last vibrations of her throbbing nerves.
(Madame Bovary, 1856)
Gustave Flaubert
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One can be the master of what one does, but never of what one feels. Life must be a constant education; one must learn everything, from speaking to dying. If you knew all the dreams I've dreamed!
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