Resignation is a daily suicide.

The boor covers himself, the rich man or the fool adorns himself, and the elegant man gets dressed.

The press is like a woman: sublime when it lies, it will not let go until it has forced you to believe it. The public, like a foolish husband, always succumbs.

Evasion is unworthy of us, and is always the intimate of equivocation.

A mother's happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.

One day, about the middle of July 1838, one of the carriages, lately introduced to Paris cabstands, and known as Milords, was driving down the Rue de l'Universite, conveying a stout man of middle height in the uniform of a captain of the National Guard.

Nobody loves a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or intelligent. We love because we love.