the last steps of life are ever slow and difficult.

intellect is a sin that must be atoned for by leading exactly the life of those who have none.

Politeness is the art of choosing among your thoughts.

Self-love, so sensitive in its own cause, has rarely any sympathy to spare for others.

[On Napoleon:] One has the impression of an imperious wind blowing about one's ears when one is near that man.

Life, for me, is living among my friends.

Glory can be for a woman but the brilliant morning of happiness.