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

... love is too delicate a flower to rise again when one has trampled it under foot.

Humanity is outraged in me and with me. We must not dissimulate nor try to forget this indignation, which is one of the most passionate forms of love.

And I refused to make any sacrifices; for nothing on earth seemed more valuable than my peace of mind, my pleasure and my acclaim.

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.

Butterflies are but flowers that blew away one sunny day when Nature was feeling at her most inventive and fertile.

Nature distributes her favors unequally.