Society proceeds like the ocean. After a disaster, it resume its wonted level and rhythms; its devouring interests efface all traces of damage.

Nothing is a greater impediment to being on good terms with others than being ill at ease with yourself.

A lover always thinks of his mistress first and himself second; with a husband it runs the other way.

All human power is a compound of time and patience.

A husband who submits to his wife's yoke is justly held an object of ridicule. A woman's influence ought to be entirely concealed.

Solitude is fine, but you need someone to tell you that solitude is fine.

Several sorts of memory exist in us; body and mind each possesses one peculiar to itself. Nostalgia, for instance, is a malady of the physical memory.