Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside.

The more you judge, the less you love.

Woman is closer to angels than man because she knows how to mingle an infinite tenderness with the most absolute compassion.

Our heart is a treasury; if you pour out all its wealth at once, you are bankrupt.

At thirty years a woman asks her lover to give her back the esteem she has forfeited for his sake; she lives only for him, her thoughts are full of his future, he must have a great career, she bids him make it glorious; she can obey, entreat, command, humble herself, or rise in pride; times without number she brings comfort when a young girl can only make moan.

At fifteen, beauty and talent do not exist; there can only be promise of the coming woman.

Many of us marvel at the icy insensitivity with which women snuff out their armours. But if they did not blot out the past in this manner, life for them would lose all dignity and they could never resist the fatal familiarities to which they once submitted.