And sounding in advance its victory, My song jets forth so clear, so proud, so peremptory, That the horizon, seized with a rosy trembling, Obeys me. - Edmond Rostand

I bear a haughty plume of independence. Everything shines about me: if I stand tall It’s not to flaunt my figure, but my soul. My only ornament’s my reputation; My wit’s as springy as my coiled moustache, [380] And when I walk, that ringing sound you hear Is not my spurs, it’s truth

Rhymer, brawler, and musician,
Famed for his lunar expedition,
And the unnumbered duels he fought, — And lover also, — by interposition! — Here lies Hercule Savinien
De Cyrano de Bergerac,
Who was everything, yet was naught.
I cry you pardon, but I may not stay;
See, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence! I would not bid you mourn less faithfully
That good, brave Christian: I would only ask
That when my body shall be cold in clay
You wear those sable mourning weeds for two,
And mourn awhile for me, in mourning him.

A kiss! When all is said, what is a kiss? An oath of allegiance taken in closer proximity, a promise more precise, a seal on a confession, a rose-red dot upon the letter i in loving; a secret which elects the mouth for ear; an instant of eternity murmuring like a bee; balmy communion with a flavor of flowers; a fashion of inhaling each other's hearts, and of tasting, on the brink of the lips, each other's soul!