There is no more ridiculous custom than the one that makes you express sympathy once and for all on a given day to a person whose sorrow will endure as long as his life. Such grief, felt in such a way is always present, it is never too late to talk about it, never repetitious to mention it again.

We don't receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us.

Our intonations contain our philosophy of life, what each of us is constantly telling himself about things.

Life is extraordinarily suave and sweet with certain natural, witty, affectionate people who have unusual distinction and are capable of every vice, but who make a display of none in public and about whom no one can affirm they have a single one. There is something supple and secret about them. Besides, their perversity gives spice to their most innocent occupations, such as taking a walk in the garden at night.

But,instead of what our imagination makes us suppose and which we worthless try to discover,life gives us something that we could hardly imagine.

We are all of us obliged, if we are to make reality endurable, to nurse a few little follies in ourselves.

After a certain age, the more one becomes oneself, the more obvious one's family traits become.