Your modest savant smiles as he says to his admirers: What have I done? Nothing. Man does not invent a force, he directs it.
Sensuality is the death of the soul.
Pity is woman's sweetest charm.
Charity is not one of the virtues practiced on the stock market. The heart of a bank is but one of many viscera.
Women are ever the dupes or the victims of their extreme sensitiveness.
Like hunger, physical love is a necessity. But man's appetite for amour is never so regular or so sustained as his appetite for the delights of the table.