Life cannot go on without much forgetting.

A woman, even a prude, is not long at a loss, however dire her plight. She would seen always to have in hand the fig leaf our Mother Eve bequeathed to her.

I can no longer think of anything but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you. I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you, a thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me.

We are scarcely apt to berate the source of enjoyment.

Now literary success can only be won in solitude by persevering labor.

Man can start with aversion and end with love, but if he begins with love and comes round to aversion he will never get back to love.

Resignation is a daily suicide.