L’arbre tombe feuille à feuille : si les hommes contemplaient chaque matin ce qu’ils ont perdu la veille, ils s’apercevraient bien de leur pauvreté. - François-Auguste-René de Chateaubriand

How many other friends I will never meet again! Every night as he goes to bed, a man can count his losses; it’s only his years that do not leave him, though they pass.

In the nation’s eyes, the Bastille was the trophy of its servitude; it seemed erected at the entryway to Paris, across from the sixteen pillars of Montfaucon, as a gallows on which liberties were hanged.* By razing this fortress of the State, the people thought to break the military yoke and thereby tacitly agreed to take the place of the army that they were disbanding. And we know what marvels were born when the people became soldiers.

ô enfance du coeur humain qui ne vieillit jamais! voilà donc à quel degré de puérilité notre superbe raison peut descendre! Et encore est-il vrai que bien des hommes attachent leur destinée à des choses d'aussi peu de valeur que mes feuilles de saule.