The desire for order is the only order in the world.

It is strange what a contempt men have for the joys that are offered them freely.

Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most beautiful prizes slip through it.

Suffering has roused them from the sleep of gentle life, and every day fills them with a terrible intoxication. They are now something more than themselves; those we loved were merely happy shadows.

The man who has entered into a beautiful union is sure of at least one person to whom he can give the best that he possesses.

Let us lose none of their humble words, let us note their slightest gestures, and tell me, tell me that we will think of them together, now and later, when we realise the misery of the times and the magnitude of their sacrifice.

There is no French town in which the wounds inflicted on the battle-field are not bleeding.