Marriage is a fight to the death. Before contracting it, the two parties concerned implore the benediction of Heaven because to promise to love each other forever is the rashest of enterprises.

Let us leave the cure of public evils to those quacks, the statesmen.

Today nobility is gone: there is only a peerage.

Finance, like time, devours its own children.

This coffee falls into your stomach, and straightway there is a general commotion. Ideas begin to move like the battalions of the Grand Army of the battlefield, and the battle takes place. Things remembered arrive at full gallop, ensuing to the wind. The light cavalry of comparisons deliver a magnificent deploying charge, the artillery of logic hurry up with their train and ammunition, the shafts of with start up like sharpshooters. Similes arise, the paper is covered with ink; for the struggle commences and is concluded with torrents of black water, just as a battle with powder.

In a husband, there is only a man; in a married woman, there is a man, a father, a mother and a woman.

We flew back home like swallows. 'Is it happiness that makes us so light?' Agathe asked.