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.

I am a man, and nothing that concerns a man do I deem a matter of indifference to me.

The faith that acts not, is it truly faith?

I embrace my rival, but only to strangle him.

None love, but they who wish to love.

Crime, like virtue, has its degrees.

Is a faith without action a sincere faith?