Love is not a fire to be shut up in a soul. Everything betrays us: voice, silence, eyes; half-covered fires burn all the brighter.

To repair the irreparable ravages of time.

The part I remember best is the beginning.

The quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love.

You who love wild passions, flee the holy austerity of my pleasures. All here breathes of God, peace and truth.

Pain is unjust, and all the arguments That cannot soothe it only rouse suspicion.

Crime, like virtue, has its degrees.