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

You soothe my soul. You fill it with so tender a sentiment that it is sweet to live during the time that I see you.

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

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

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

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.

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?