Oh, this terrible second me, always seated whilst the other is on foot, acting, living, suffering, bestirring itself. This second me that I have never been able to intoxicate, to make shed tears, or put to sleep. And how it sees into things, and how it mocks!

Alphonse Daudet

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Poets are people who can still see the world through the eyes of children.
Alphonse Daudet
Distrust the man who smiles before he speaks.
Alphonse Daudet (Tartarin on the Alps, 1885)
Hatred is the anger of the weak.
Alphonse Daudet (Letters from My Mill, 1869)
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