Mud, raised by hurricanes, wells up in the noblest and purest of hearts.

Does not any limit imposed upon one inspire a desire to go beyond it? Does not our keenest suffering arise when our free will is crossed?

Woman is closer to angels than man because she knows how to mingle an infinite tenderness with the most absolute compassion.

To get a traveling salesman drunk is the height of impossibility.

The Parisan, sauntering the streets idly, is as often a man in despair as a lounger.

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.

The world will avenge itself upon all happiness in which it has no share.