A rent in your clothes is a mishap, a stain on them is a vice.

Love endows us with a sort of personal religion; we respect another live within ourselves.

Doubt follows white-winged hope with trembling steps.

It is only in the act of nursing that a woman realizes her motherhood in visible and tangible fashion; it is a joy of every moment.

Conscience is a cudgel which all men pick up in order to thwack their neighbors instead of applying it to their own shoulders.

The events of human life, whether public or private, are so intimately linked to architecture that most observers can reconstruct nations or individuals in all the truth of their habits from the remains of their monuments or from their domestic relics.

With every one, the expectation of a misfortune constitutes a dreadful, punishment. Suffering then assumes the proportions of the unknown, which is the soul's infinite.