Women love always: when earth slips from them, they take refuge in heaven.

Where there is no longer love, there is no longer anything.

He who draws noble delights from sentiments of poetry is a true poet, though he has never written a line in all his life.

You see what stupid folk my publishers are; but they are all alike.

Years do not always make age.

If they are ignorant, they are despised, if learned, mocked. In love they are reduced to the status of courtesans. As wives they are treated more as servants than as companions. Men do not love them: they make use of them, they exploit them, and expect, in that way, to make them subject to the law of fidelity.

There is but on virtue--the eternal sacrifice of self.