We are never either so wretched or so happy as we say we are.

Happiness lends poetic charms to woman, and dress adorns her like a delicate tinge of rouge.

A woman in love has full intelligence of her power; the more virtuous she is, the more effective her coquetry.

Six weeks with a fever is an eternity.

When she lives at his palace, the maiden niece of a bishop can pass for a respectable woman because, if she has a love affair, she is obliged to hoodwink her uncle.

Virtue, perhaps, is nothing more than politeness of soul.

Women are always true, even in the midst of their greatest falsities, because they are always influenced by some natural feeling.