These ways to make people buy were strange and new to us, and many bought for the sheer pleasure at first of holding in the hand and talking of something new. And once this was done, it was like opium, we could no longer do without this new bauble, and thus, though we hated the foreigners and though we knew they were ruining us, we bought their goods. Thus I learned the art of the foreigners, the art of creating in the human heart restlessness, disquiet, hunger for new things, and these new desires became their best helpers.

Truth, like surgery, may hurt, but it cures.

Love can never explain the loved one, my dear. It is the essence of wild unreason.

People never think about words, they only feel them.

People bring to what they see and feel, the inner weather of their souls and complexion of their minds.

Love from one being to another can only be that two solitudes come nearer, recognize and protect and comfort each other.

It is the illusion of all lovers to think themselves unique and their words immortal.