Life is simply what out feelings do to us.

Virtue in women is perhaps a question of temperament.

Music is of two kinds: one petty, poor, second-rate, never varying, its base the hundred or so phrasings which all musicians understand, a babbling which is more or less pleasant, the life that most composers live.

True love is mixed up with birdlike squabbles, in which the disputants wound each other to the quick; but a quarrel without animus is, on the contrary, apiece of flattery to the dupe's conceit.

A man is a poor creature compared to a woman.

Some day you will find out that there is far more happiness in another's happiness than in your own.

Events are never absolute, their outcome depends entirely upon the individual.