But does not happiness come from the soul within?

Death unites as well as separates; it silences all paltry feeling.

In Paris every man must have had a love affair. What woman wants something that no other woman ever wanted.

Mud, raised by hurricanes, wells up in the noblest and purest of hearts.

Coffee falls into the stomach... ideas begin to move, things remembered arrive at full gallop... the shafts of wit start up like sharp-shooters, similes arise, the paper is covered with ink...

The fame of surgeons resembles the fame of actors, who live only during their lifetime and whose talent is no longer appreciable once they have disappeared.

A woman, even a prude, is not long at a loss, however dire her plight. She would seen always to have in hand the fig leaf our Mother Eve bequeathed to her.