Every life is a profession of faith.

Happiness has no limits, because God has neither bottom nor bounds, and because happiness is nothing but the conquest of God through love.

Our true history is scarcely ever deciphered by others. The chief part of the drama is a monologue, or rather an intimate debate between God, our conscience, and ourselves. Tears, grieves, depressions, disappointments, irritations, good and evil thoughts, decisions, uncertainties, deliberations --all these belong to our secret, and are almost all incommunicable and intransmissible, even when we try to speak of them, and even when we write them down.

Sadness takes up the pen more readily than joy.

The ideal, after all, is true than the real: for the ideal is the eternal element in perishable things.

In every loving woman there is a priestess of the past - a pious guardian of some affection, of which the object has disappeared.

Righteous ends, thus approved, absolve of guilt the most violent means.