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?

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

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

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

The logic of the heart is absurd

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.