Hatred is the vice of narrow souls; they feed it with all their littleness, and make it the pretext of base tyrannies.

What is art? Nature concentrated.

When one has no particular talent for anything, one takes to the pen.

When she lives at his palace, the maiden niece of a bishop can pass for a respectable woman because, if she has a love affair, she is obliged to hoodwink her uncle.

Old maids claw as cats do. They not only inflict wounds but experience pleasure in doing so. Nor will they fail to remind their victims of the blood drawn.

What is a child, monsieur, but the image of two beings, the fruit of two sentiments spontaneously blended?

You cannot pluck love out of your heart as you would pull a tooth.