From the manner in which a woman draws her thread at every stitch of her needlework, any other woman can surmise her thoughts.

We are never either so wretched or so happy as we say we are.

Are not poets men who fulfill their hopes prematurely?

Society bristles with enigmas which look hard to solve. It is a perfect maze of intrigue.

Children, dear and loving children, can alone console a woman for the loss of her beauty.

I am not deep, but I am very wide.

Materialism and spirituality are two pretty racquets with which charlatans in cap and gown make the same ball fly.