We cannot confront solitude without moral resources.
To feel, to love, to suffer, to devote herself, will always be the text of the life of woman.
The habits of every animal are, at least in the eyes of man, constantly similar in all ages. But the habits, the clothes, the words and the dwelling of a prince, a banker, an artist, a bourgeois, a priest and a pauper, are wholly dissimilar and change at the will of civilizations.
True love rules especially through memory.
Man is no match for woman where mischief reigns.
The greater a man's talents, the more marked his idiosyncracies. Yet in the provinces originality is considered perilously close to lunacy.