It is high time that we had lights that are not incendiary torches.

It is sad, no doubt, to exhaust one's strength and one's days in cleaving the bosom of this jealous earth, which compels us to wring from it the treasures of its fertility, when a bit of the blackest and coarsest bread is, at the end of the day's work, the sole recompense and the sole profit attaching to so arduous a toil.

There are no more thorough prudes than those who have some little secret to hide.

There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved.

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

Years do not always make age.

No one makes a revolution by himself.