a thousand other identical and often much superior objects existto soothe our regrets and our pride: all men, all women resembleeach other: no love resists the effects of sane reflection.
O 'tis a very great cheat and a dupery, this intoxication whichputs us in such a state that we see no more, exist no more savethrough this object insanely adored! Is this really to live? Is itnot rather voluntarily to deprive oneself of all life'ssweetness?
Is it not to wish to linger in a burning fever which devours,consumes us, without affording us other than metaphysical joys,which bear such a likeness to the effects of madness? Were wealways to love this adorable object, were it certain we shouldnever have to quit it, 'twould still be an extravagance withoutdoubt, but at least an excusable one.
Doe
