The mouth keeps silent to hear the heart speak.

Life is a sleep, love is a dream; and you have lived if you have loved.

If love is a play, this play, as old as the world, fiasco or not, it is, all in all, the least bad thing that has so far been found. The roles are trite, I admit, but if the play had no value the whole universe wouldn’t know it by heart

Happiness may have but one night, as glory but one day.

Know that there is often hidden in us a dormant poet, always young and alive.

A lively retrospect summons back to us once more our youth, with vivid reflex of its early joys and unstained pleasures.

Reason may cure illusions, but not suffering.