Are not our noblest feelings as it were the poems of our will.

Six weeks with a fever is an eternity.

Who shall ever tell how much an unmerited disfavor crushes a shy person? Who can ever depict the misfortunes of timidity?

Are not our noblest feelings as it were the poems of our will.

A man is a poor creature compared to a woman.

I should like one of these days to be so well known, so popular, so celebrated, so famous, that it would permit me . . . to break wind in society, and society would think it a most natural thing.

Love is a religion, and its rituals cost more than those of other religions. It goes by quickly and, like a street urchin, it likes to mark its passage by a trail of devastation.