We must love stupid people better than ourselves; are they not the really unfortunate ones of this world? Do not people without taste and without ideal grow constantly weary, rejoicing in nothing, and being quite useless here below?

It is love, not faith, that moves mountains.

When they are among us cats are angels

Vanity is the quicksand of reason.

Heavens! whatever possesses us, here below, that we mutually torment ourselves, sourly reproach our mutual faults, and mercilessly condemn all that is not cut according to our pattern?

Death must no longer be either the penalty for prosperity or the consolation of misery. God did not destine it to be either the punishment or the compensation for life.

No human being can control love, and no one is to blame either for feeling it or for losing it. What alone degrades a woman is falsehood.