long journeys are strange things: if we were always to continue in the same mind we are in at the end of a journey, we should never stir from the place we were then in: but Providence in kindness to us causes us to forget it. It is much the same with lying-in women. Heaven permits this forgetfulness that the world may be peopled, and that folks may take journeys to Provence.

The desire to be singular and to astonish by ways out of the common seems to me to be the source of many virtues.

Ah, what a grudge I owe physicians! what mummery is their art!

The world has no long injustices.

We like so much to hear people talk of us and of our motives, that we are charmed even when they abuse us.

Oh Dear! How unfortunate I am not to have anyone to weep with!

I love you so passionately, that I hide a great part of my love, so as not to oppress you with it.