Unhappy love freezes all our affections: our own souls grow inexplicable to us. More than we gained while we were happy we lose by the reverse.
Society develops wit, but its contemplation alone forms genius.
The egotism of woman is always for two.
I must keep on rowing, not until I reach port but until I reach my grave.
Thought can never be compared with action, but when it awakens in us the image of truth.
We cease loving ourselves if no one loves us.