Nine tenths of the ills from which intelligent people suffer spring from their intellect.

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

The charms of the passing woman are generally in direct ratio to the swiftness of our passage.

I believe that all true art is classic, but the dictates of the mind rarely permit of its being recognized as such when it first appears.

Thanks to art, instead of seeing one world, our own, we see it multiplied and as many original artists as there are, so many worlds are at our disposal.

Now the same mystery which often veils from our eyes the reason for a catastrophe envelops just as frequently, when love is in question, the suddenness of certain happy solutions, such as had been brought to me by Gilberte's letter. Happy, or at least seemingly happy, for there are few that can really be happy when we are dealing with a sentiment of such a kind that any satisfaction we can give it does no more, as a rule, than dislodge some pain. And yet sometimes a respite is granted us, and we have for a little while the illusion of being healed.

There are people whose faces assume an unaccustomed beauty and majesty the moment they cease to look out of their eyes.