Men die in despair, while spirits die in ecstasy.

A man wastes his time going to hear some of our eloquent modern preachers; they may change his opinions, but never his conduct.

One exits with one's husband -- one lives with one's lover.

Most geometricians, chemists, mathematicians, and great scientists submit religion to reason only to discover a problem as unsolvable as that of squaring a circle.

A penniless man who has no ties to bind him is master of himself at any rate, but a luckless wretch who is in love no longer belongs to himself, and may not take his own life. Love makes us almost sacred in our own eyes; it is the life of another that we revere within us; then and so begins for us the cruelest trouble of all.

Thanks to the toleration preached by the encyclopedists of the eighteenth century, the sorcerer is exempt from torture.

Love knows nothing of modesty.