Though your vulgarian does not readily admit that feelings can change overnight, certainly two lovers often part far more abruptly than they came together.

Admiration bestowed upon any one but ourselves is always tedious.

To feel, to love, to suffer, to devote herself, will always be the text of the life of woman.

The innocence of virgins is like milk which turns when exposed to a clap of thunder, to a tart smell, to a hot day, to the merest nothing.

For the person who loves God, worship is the daily bread of patience.

Love is a game in which one always cheats.

We love because we love.