We cannot confront solitude without moral resources.

The passion of love is essentially selfish, while motherhood widens the circle of our feelings.

Marriage is a fight to the death. Before contracting it, the two parties concerned implore the benediction of Heaven because to promise to love each other forever is the rashest of enterprises.

With monuments as with men, position means everything.

Marriage must fight constantly against a monster which devours everything: routine.

Love is not only a feeling, it is also an art. A simple word, a sensitive precaution, a mere nothing reveal to a woman the sublime artist who can touch her heart without withering it.

Reproach is usually honest, which is more than can be said of praise.