No woman allows her lover to descend from his pedestal. Even a god is not forgiven the slightest pettiness.

The mind, too, has its regimen. It needs gymnastics, just like the body does.

Music is of two kinds: one petty, poor, second-rate, never varying, its base the hundred or so phrasings which all musicians understand, a babbling which is more or less pleasant, the life that most composers live.

He's got his dog trained so that it only does it on newspapers. The trouble is it does it when he's reading the blasted things.

Imaginative, sanguine men will never recognize that in negotiations the most dangerous moment of all is when everything is moving according to their wishes.

The pleasures of love proceed successively from a distich to a quatrain, from a quatrain to a sonnet, from a sonnet to a ballad, from a ballad to an ode, from an ode to a cantata, and from a cantata to a dithyramb. A husband who begins with the dithyramb is a fool.

The wounds of self-love turn incurable when the oxide of self-love gets into them.