On the moral plane, true friends enjoy the same protection as the sense of smell confers upon dogs. They scent the sorrow of their friends, they divine its causes, and they clasp it to their minds and hearts.

There are words which cut like steel.

Whereas scoundrels become reconciled after knifing one another, lovers break up irrevocably over a mere glance or word.

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

When passion is not fed, it changes to need. At this juncture, marriage becomes a fixed idea in the mind of the bourgeois, being the only means whereby he can win a woman and appropriate her to his uses.

The sanctity of womanhood is incompatible with social liberty and social claims; and for a woman emancipation means corruption.

The day will dawn when Europe will believe only in the man who tramples her underfoot.