Life cannot go on without much forgetting.

When women love us, they forgive us everything, even our crimes; when they do not love us, they give us credit for nothing, not even our virtues.

There are no principles; there are only events. There is no good and bad, there are only circumstances.

It is always assumed by the empty-headed, who chatter about themselves for want of something better, that people who do not discuss their affairs openly must have something to hide.

The innocence of virgins is like milk which turns when exposed to a clap of thunder, to a tart smell, to a hot day, to the merest nothing.

A young bride is like a plucked flower; but a guilty wife is like a flower that had been walked over.

Virtue is not a thing you can have by halves; it is or it is not.