In smart society men are jealous of one another after the fashion of women.

Love may be or it may not, but where it is, it ought to reveal itself in its immensity.

A careful observation of Nature will disclose pleasantries of superb irony. She has for instance placed toads close to flowers.

Poets and men of action differ: the former yield to their feelings in order to reproduce them in lively colors, and therefore judge only ex post facto; the latter feel and judge at one and the same time.

A naked woman is less dangerous than one who spreads her skirt skillfully to cover and exhibit everything at once.

The passion of love is essentially selfish, while motherhood widens the circle of our feelings.

While seeking out the dead, I see nothing but the living.