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

I do not comprehend those rules of conduct that make us so content with self and so cold to those we love. I detest prudence, I even hate (suffer me to say so) those duties of friendship which substitute propriety for interest, and circumspection for feeling. How shall I say it? I love the abandonment to impulse, I act from impulse only, and I love to madness that others do the same by me.

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

none but the unhappy are worthy of friends; if your soul had never suffered never could you have entered mine.

Oh! how many times we die before death!

I love the abandonment to impulse, I act from impulse only, and I love to madness that others do the same by me.

The logic of the heart is absurd