Hope is a memory that desires, the memory is a memory that has enjoyed.

Many men are deeply moved by the mere semblance of suffering in a woman; they take the look of pain for a sign of constancy or of love.

Love, according to our contemporary poets, is a privilege which two beings confer upon one another, whereby they may mutually cause one another much sorrow over absolutely nothing.

Whereas scoundrels become reconciled after knifing one another, lovers break up irrevocably over a mere glance or word.

Woman is closer to angels than man because she knows how to mingle an infinite tenderness with the most absolute compassion.

Forgetting is the great secret of strong and creative lives.

Whoever does not visit Paris regularly will never really be elegant.