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

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

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

Oh! how many times we die before death!

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 read what I feel, and not what I see.