Behind every fortune there is a crime.

There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.

What is a child, monsieur, but the image of two beings, the fruit of two sentiments spontaneously blended?

How can we explain the perpetuity of envy--a vice which yields no return?

Woman is a most charming creature, who changes her heart as easily as she does her gloves.

Nature makes only dumb animals. We owe the fools to society.

We are scarcely apt to berate the source of enjoyment.