Oh! how many times we die before death!

The logic of the heart is absurd

Calumny spreads like an oil-spot: we endeavor to cleanse it, but the mark remains.

You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul.

I love you as one should, to excess. With folly, delight and despair.

Ah! mon Dieu! how the mind shrinks by loving! it is true that the soul does not, but what can one do with a soul?

I read what I feel, and not what I see.