The publication of a book only brings very paltry results to its author.

Art belongs to all times and to all countries; its special benefit is precisely to be still living when everything else seems dying; that is why Providence shields it from too personal or too general passions, and grants it a patient and persevering organization, durable sensibility, and the contemplative sense in which lies invincible faith.

We cannot tear out a single page of our life, but we can throw the whole book in the fire.

Happiness lies in the consciousness we have of it.

We do not precisely enjoy liberty at the Figaro. M. de Latouche, our worthy director (ah! you should know the fellow), is always hanging over us, cutting, pruning, right or wrong, imposing upon us his whims, his aberrations, his fancies, and we have to write as he bids.

No place is ugly to those who understand the virtues and sweetness of everything that God has made.

Simplicity, a delicate silence about oneself, increases their worth and makes one love those whom one admires.