Happiness is a rare plant that seldom takes root on earth-few ever enjoyed it, except for a brief period; the search after it is rarely rewarded by the discovery, but there is an admirable substitute for it... a contented spirit.

I see little alteration at Lyons since I formerly passed through it. Its manufactories are, nevertheless, flourishing, though less improvement than could be expected is visible in the external aspect of the place.

Talent, like beauty, to be pardoned, must be obscure and unostentatious.

There is no knowledge for which so great a price is paid as a knowledge of the world; and no one ever became an adept in it except at the expense of a hardened or a wounded heart.

Reason dissipates the illusions of life, but does not console us for their departure.

Here Fashion is a despot, and no one dreams of evading its dictates.

There is no cosmetic like happiness