I was a queen, and you took away my crown; a wife, and you killed my husband; a mother, and you deprived me of my children. My blood alone remains: take it, but do not make me suffer long.

Courage! I have shown it for years; think you I shall lose it at the moment when my sufferings are to end?

I trust we shall never be reduced to the painful extremity of seeking the aid of Mirabeau.

No, do not love me, it is better to give me death!

There is nothing new except what has been forgotten.

The ministers and the Jacobins are making the king declare war tomorrow on Austria. The ministers are hoping that this move will frighten the Austrians and that within three weeks we will be negotiating (God forbid that this should happen). May we at last be avenged for all the outrages we have suffered from this country!

No one understands my ills, nor the terror that fills my breast, who does not know the heart of a mother.