I yield to your wishes. It is the privilege of the women whom we love more than they love us to make the men who love them ignore the ordinary rules of common-sense.

Envy lurks at the bottom of the human heart like a viper in its hole.

The more one judges, the less one loves.

By resorting to self-resignation, the unfortunate consummate.

Poetry is only born after painful journeys into the vast regions of thought.

The duration of passion is proportionate with the original resistance of the woman.

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