The wounds of self-love turn incurable when the oxide of self-love gets into them.

Are not our noblest feelings as it were the poems of our will.

God is the poet; men are but the actors. The great dramas of earth were written in heaven.

How fondly swindlers coddle their dupes! No mother is as caressing or thoughtful towards her adored child as a merchant in hypocrisy toward his milch-cow.

An ounce of courage will go farther with women than a pound of timidity.

Jealousy, an eminently credulous and suspicious passion, allows fancy the greatest possible play. But it does not bestow wit, it banishes all sense.

But reason always cuts a poor figure beside sentiment; the one being essentially restricted, like everything that is positive, while the other is infinite.