Love, like fire, cannot subsist without constant impulse; it ceases to live from the moment it ceases to hope or to fear.

The great interests of man: air and light, the joy of having a body, the voluptuousness of looking.

There is no disguise which can hide love for long where it exists, or simulate it where it does not.

Those that have had great passions esteem themselves for the rest of their lives fortunate and unfortunate in being cured of them.

Moderation is like sobriety: you would like to have some more, but are afraid of making yourself ill.

Youth is a continual intoxication; it is the fever of reason.

We often are consoled by our want of reason for misfortunes that reason could not have comforted.