Nothing recalls the past like music.
How true it is that, sooner or later, the' most rebellious must bow beneath the yoke of misfortune!
O memory, thou bitter sweet,--both a joy and a scourge!
The more I see of man, the more I like dogs.
In women's destiny everything goes downhill except for thought, whose immortal nature it is to keep constantly rising.
[On Napoleon:] One has the impression of an imperious wind blowing about one's ears when one is near that man.