All our days are the same; they are all calm and beautiful; they pass swiftly and purely like those of our childhood. - George Sand

Let us accept truth, even when it surprises us and alters our views.

But it’s different with a woman. Her work in the house is to keep not to get.

"My good aunt Lucie was on the eve of marriage with an officer who was a friend of my father, and they were all celebrating in the intimacy of the family. My mother was wearing a pretty dress the color of roses. They were dancing a quadrille composed by my father, as he played on his faithful Cremona violin. . . . My mother, feeling a slight malaise, left the dance and went to her bedroom. Since she showed no signs of indisposition and had left so quietly, the dancing continued. My aunt Lucie, as it was ending, went to my mother's bedroom, and almost immediately she was heard to cry, "Come, come quickly, Maurice, you have a daughter!"

"She shall be called Aurore," said my father, "after my poor, dear mother, who is not here to bless her, but who will someday!"
And he took me in his arms. . . .
"She was born to the sound of music and in the color of
roses," said my aunt. "She will know happiness.