The future of a nation lies in the hands of mothers.
As a rule, only the poor are generous.
Mud, raised by hurricanes, wells up in the noblest and purest of hearts.
The more one judges, the less one loves.
There are no little events with the heart. It magnifies everything; it places in the same scales the fall of an empire of fourteen years and the dropping of a woman's glove, and almost always the glove weighs more than the empire.
Rich men are resolved to be astonished at nothing. When they see a masterpiece, they must needs at one glance recognize some flaw to dispense them from admiration, a vulgar emotion.