Passion I hate, and spirit does me wrong. Let us love gently.

To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.

A study of the Great Malady; horror of home.

Those men get along best with women who can get along best without them.

Let us beware of common folk, of common sense, of sentiment, of inspiration, and of the obvious.

In certain almost supernatural states of the soul, the profundity of life reveals itself entirely in the spectacle, however ordinary it may be, before one's eyes. It becomes its symbol.

The old Paris is no more (the form of a city changes faster, alas! than a mortal's heart).