Nothing is as heady as the wine of misfortune.

But woman brings disorder into society through passion.

Whereas scoundrels become reconciled after knifing one another, lovers break up irrevocably over a mere glance or word.

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.

A great love is a credit opened in favor of a power so consuming that the moment of bankruptcy must inevitably occur.

Our souls possess the unknown power of extending as well as contracting space.

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