... love always betrays its intentions.
there are no nationalities in heaven.
Words express only the feelings we know already.
The arts are good and providential in that they allow the soul to imitate the movements of love, and to feel love without its being returned - which, perhaps, is the only way of feeling it permanently.
marriage was a calamity, but it was not an occupation.
those two wholesome defects of the French people, malice and curiosity, both of which are essential to its greatness.