The fact is that I did not know how to understand anything! I ought to have judged by deeds and not by words. She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her . . . I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her . . .
The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in the abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation. The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
تمام آن مزخرفاتی که توی مجله ساتردی ایونینگ پست و آن جور مجله ها توی کاریکاتورها می کشند که مردهایی را نشان می دهد که گوشه خیابان ها مثل خوک تیرخورده ایستاده اند، چون معشوقه شان دیر کرده است - این ها همه اش دروغ و مزخرف است. اگر دختر موقعی که سر وعده اش می آید خوشگل و دلربا باشد، چه کسی به دیر آمدنش اهمیت می دهد؟