No compass has ever been invented for the high seas of matrimony.

A blaspheming Frenchman is a spectacle more pleasing to the Lord than a praying Englishman.

There, where one burns books... one, in the end, burns men.

He who fights with priests may make up his mind to have his poor good name torn and befouled by the most infamous lies and the most cutting slanders.

Reason exercises merely the function of preserving order, is, so to say, the police in the region of art. In life it is mostly a cold arithmetician summing up our follies.

Round my cradle shimmered the last moonbeams of the eighteenth century and the first morning rays of the nineteenth.

Every woman is the gift of a world to me.