It's catastrophies which turn wise and strong people into philosophers.

Reproach is usually honest, which is more than can be said of praise.

A woman, even a prude, is not long at a loss, however dire her plight. She would seen always to have in hand the fig leaf our Mother Eve bequeathed to her.

The habits of life form the soul, and the soul forms the physical presence.

The causes that govern the heart appear to be wholly alien to the results achieved. Are the forces that moved a desperate criminal the same that fill a martyr with pride, as both mount the scaffold?

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

Nothing is irredeemably ugly but sin.