Oh, my dear, my tragedy is that you don't need to be loved as I know how to love.

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

nothing is stronger or better founded than the sentiments for which we can give no reason.

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

Oh! how many times we die before death!

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

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