Few men are raised in our estimation by being too closely examined.

A year at the breast is quite enough; children who are suckled longer are said to grow stupid, and I am all for popular sayings.

A woman filled with faith in the one she loves is the creation of a novelist's imagination.

For pain is perhaps but a violent pleasure? Who could determine the point where pleasure becomes pain, where pain is still a pleasure? Is not the utmost brightness of the ideal world soothing to us, while the lightest shadows of the physical world annoy?

Authentic love always assumes the mystery of modesty, even in its expression, because actions speak louder than words. Unlike a feigned love, it feels no need to set a conflagration.

When attempted self-destruction does not cure a man of life, it cures him of voluntary death.

Women? In order to realize how far these charming creatures we idealize can carry their cruelty, we must see them among themselves!