To have one's mother-in-law in the country when one lives in Paris, and vice versa, is one of those strokes of luck that one encounters only too rarely.

No navigator has yet traced lines of latitude and longitude on the conjugal sea.

One exits with one's husband -- one lives with one's lover.

When there is an old maid in the house, a watchdog is unnecessary.

The pleasures of love proceed successively from a distich to a quatrain, from a quatrain to a sonnet, from a sonnet to a ballad, from a ballad to an ode, from an ode to a cantata, and from a cantata to a dithyramb. A husband who begins with the dithyramb is a fool.

The habits of life form the soul, and the soul forms the physical presence.

For passion, be it observed, brings insight with it; it can give a sort of intelligence to simpletons, fools, and idiots, especially during youth.