The greater a man's talents, the more marked his idiosyncracies. Yet in the provinces originality is considered perilously close to lunacy.

Those sweetly smiling angels with pensive looks, innocent faces, and cash-boxes for hearts.

First love is a kind of vaccination which saves a man from catching the complaint the second time.

To kill a relative of whom you are tired is something. But to inherit his property afterwards, that is genuine pleasure.

Sometimes at the best moments a single word or a look is enough.'

The fact is that love is of two kinds, one which commands, and one which obeys. The two are quite distinct, and the passion to which the one gives rise is not the passion of the other.

Today nobility is gone: there is only a peerage.