The artist's morality lies in the force and truth of his description.

Happy men are grave. They carry their happiness cautiously, as they would a glass filled to the brim which the slightest movement could cause to spill over, or break.

They had...finished their lives before their death - which is not always the end of life and often comes long before the end.

Yet, whether to the glory or to the shame of human nature, in what we call pleasure (with an excess of scorn, perhaps) there are abysses as deep as those of love.

For in Paris, whenever God puts a pretty woman there (the streets), the Devil, in reply, immediately puts a fool to keep her.

Next to the wound, what women make best is the bandage.

The crimes of extreme civilization are certainly more atrocious than those of extreme barbarism.