Cyrano de Bergerac
she's a mortal danger without meaning to be one; she's exquisite without giving it a thought; she's a trap set by nature, a rose in which love lies in ambush! anyone who has seen her smile has known perfection. she creates grace without movement, and makes divinity fit into her slightest gesture. and neither venus in her shell, nor diana striding in the great, blossoming forest, can compare to her when she goes through the streets of Paris in her sedan chair!
After all what is a kiss? a vow made at closer range, a more precise promise, a confession that contains its own proof, a seal placed on a pact that has already been signed; its a secret told to the mouth rather than to the ear, a fleeting moment filled with the hush of eternity, a communion that has the fragerance of a flower, a way of living by the beat of another heart, and tasting another soul on one's lips!
After all what is a kiss? a vow made at closer range, a more precise promise, a confession that contains its own proof, a seal placed on a pact that has already been signed; its a secret told to the mouth rather than to the ear, a fleeting moment filled with the hush of eternity, a communion that has the fragerance of a flower, a way of living by the beat of another heart, and tasting another soul on one's lips!