One of the most detestable habits of Lilliputian minds is to find their own littleness in others.

Genuine sorrows are very tranquil in appearance in the deep bed they have dug for themselves. But, seeming to slumber, they corrode the soul like that frightful acid which penetrates crystal.

Men are perfectly willing to abandon a woman but they refuse to be abandoned by her.

Men die in despair, while spirits die in ecstasy.

Our energies are often stimulated by the necessity of supporting a being weaker than ourselves.

Doubt follows white-winged hope with trembling steps.

Love is perhaps no more than gratitude for pleasure.