When one has no particular talent for anything, one takes to the pen.

The country is provincial; it becomes ridiculous when it tries to ape Paris.

Vulgar souls look hastily and superficially at the sea and accuse it of monotony; other more privileged beings could spend a lifetime admiring it and discovering new and changing phenomena that delight them. So it is with love.

All human beings go through a previous life... Who knows how many fleshly forms the heir of heaven occupies before he can be brought to understand the value of that silence and solitude of spiritual worlds?

A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea.

Authentic love always assumes the mystery of modesty, even in its expression, because actions speak louder than words. Unlike a feigned love, it feels no need to set a conflagration.

A vocation is born to us all; happily most of us meet promptly our twin,--occupation.