Nobody loves a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or intelligent. We love because we love.

A mother's life, you see, is one long succession of dramas, now soft and tender, now terrible. Not an hour but has its joys and fears.

The happier a man, the more apt he is to tremble. In hearts exclusively tender, anxiety and jealousy are in exact proportion to happiness.

Admiration bestowed upon any one but ourselves is always tedious.

No man has ever yet discovered the way to give friendly advice to any woman, not even to his own wife.

Narrow minds can develop as well through persecution as through benevolence; they can assure themselves of their power by tyrannizing cruelly or beneficially over others.

Hatred like love feeds on the merest trifles. Everything adds to it. Just as the being we love can do no wrong, so the one we hate can do no right.