To be seen. The man of letters loves not only to be read but to be seen. Happy to be by himself, he would be happier still if people knew that he was happy to be by himself, working in solitude at night under his lamp; and he would be indeed happiest of all if, after he has closed his door, his servant should open it for a visitor and show to the importunate fellow, through the chink, the man of letters happy to be by himself. Man begins by loving love and ends by loving a woman. Woman begins by loving a man and ends by loving love. Said a country vicar to a fanatically scrupulous devotee: "God is not so silly as that." He has known Claude Bernard, Flaubert, Barbey d'Aurevilly, Goncourt, Manet, Villiers de l'Isle-Adam, Renan, Taine, Pasteur, Verlaine, Tarde, Mallarmé, Puvis de Chavannes, Marey, Gauguin, Curie, Berthelot; he knows Rodin, Ribot, Renoir, France, Quinton, Monet, Poincaré,--and he complains! He bewails his country's decadence: The ingrate! Nietzsche opened the gate. Now one may walk straight into the orchard of which, before him, it was necessary to scale the walls. I am vexed that people should have thought so many things before me. I seem like a reflection. But perhaps some day I'll cause another man to repeat the same thing. I do not vouch for the fact that none of these observations may be found in my previous writings, or that none will figure in any future work. They may even be found in writings that are not mine. End of Project Gutenberg's Philosophic Nights In Paris, by Remy De Gourmont