The habits of life form the soul, and the soul forms the physical presence.
Hatred is the vice of narrow souls; they feed it with all their littleness, and make it the pretext of base tyrannies.
Among even the happiest married couples there are always moments of regret.
Misfortune makes of certain souls a vast desert through which rings the voice of God.
Are not our noblest feelings as it were the poems of our will.
In Paris, the greatest expression of personal satisfaction known to man is the smirk on the face of a male, highly pleased with himself as he leaves the boudoir of a lady.