Madame Aubain's servant Felicite was the envy of the ladies of Pont-l'Eveque for half a century.

Sometimes I think I'm liquefying like an old Camembert.

The public wants work which flatters its illusions.

Iced champagne was served, and the feel of the cold wine in her mouth gave Emma a shiver that ran over her from head to toe.

The one way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in literature as in a perpetual orgy.

Stupidity lies in wanting to draw conclusions.

But the most wretched thing, is it not-is to drag out, as I do, a useless existence. If our pains were only of some use to someone, we should find consolation in the thought of the sacrifice.