Vice is perhaps a desire to learn everything.

Finance, like time, devours its own children.

We exaggerate misfortune and happiness alike. We are never as bad off or as happy as we say we are.

Rich women need not fear old age; their gold can always create about them any feelings necessary to their happiness.

Several sorts of memory exist in us; body and mind each possesses one peculiar to itself. Nostalgia, for instance, is a malady of the physical memory.

When women love us, they forgive us everything, even our crimes; when they do not love us, they give us credit for nothing, not even our virtues.

Love is the poetry of the senses.