Aniela died this morning. - Henryk Sienkiewicz

Whoso loves beauty is unable for that very reason to love deformity. One may not believe in our gods, but it is possible to love them...

Aniela knows perfectly that I live for her only, exist through her; that all my thoughts belong to her, my actions have only her in view; that she is to me an issue of life and death; and in spite of all that she calmly decides to go away. Whether I should perish or beat my head against the wall, she never so much as considered. She will be more at ease when she ceases to see me writhing like a beetle stuck on a pin; she will be no longer afraid of my kissing her feet furtively, or startling that virtuous conscience. How can she hesitate when such excellent peace can be got, at so small a price as cutting somebody's throat! Thoughts like these spun across my brain by thousands.

There is within us a moral instinct which forbids us to rejoice at the death of even an enemy.