... I will never love, for I should never be loved as I desire to be loved.
Nothing is ever so good or so bad in reality as it is in the anticipation.
Art just consists in making us swallow the commonplaces by charming us eternally.
To a woman who knows her own mind men can only be a minor consideration.
When one misses an opportunity one is apt to fancy that another will never present itself.
Art consists precisely in making us admire old stories, charming us with them eternally, as Nature charms with her eternal sun, her ancient earth, and her men built all on the same pattern, and all animated by the same feelings.