What happiness there had been at that time, what freedom, what hope! What an abundance of illusions! Nothing was left of them now. She had got rid of them all in her soul's life, in all her successive conditions of life, maidenhood, her marriage, and her love-thus constantly losing them all her life through, like a traveller who leaves something of his wealth at every inn along his road.
( Gustave Flaubert )
[ Madame Bovary ]
www.QuoteSweet.com