Alfred de Musset. Confession of a child of the century (№ 161163)

I wandered through the dark streets; I looked at all those lighted Windows, all of these mysterious nests, which made their people, on the passing of the carriages, scurrying passers-by. Oh, what loneliness! How sad the smoke on those roofs! What sorrow in those tortuous streets where all are marking time, work and toil, where many unfamiliar people walking, touching elbow each other, - the cloaca, which communicate only the body, leaving the soul alone.