A penniless man who has no ties to bind him is master of himself at any rate, but a luckless wretch who is in love no longer belongs to himself, and may not take his own life. Love makes us almost sacred in our own eyes; it is the life of another that we revere within us; then and so begins for us the cruelest trouble of all.

Love may be or it may not, but where it is, it ought to reveal itself in its immensity.

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 day will dawn when Europe will believe only in the man who tramples her underfoot.

Ah! What pleasure it must be to a woman to suffer for the one she loves!

It would be curious to know what leads a man to become a stationer rather than a baker, when he is no longer compelled, as among the Egyptians, to succeed to his father's craft.

A man may and ought to pride himself more on his will than on his talent.