A modern writer likens coquettes to those hunters who do not eat the game which they have successfully pursued.

Paris is a mighty schoolmaster, a grand enlightener of the provincial intellect.

love is so very subtle an essence, such an indefinable metaphysical marvel, that its due force, though very cruelly felt by the sufferer himself, is never clearly understood by those who look on at its torments and wonder why he takes the common fever so badly.

My intellect is a little way upon the wrong side of that narrow boundary-line between sanity and insanity.

it is easy to starve, but it is difficult to stoop.

love, which is a madness, and a scourge, and a fever, and a delusion, and a snare, is also a mystery, and very imperfectly understood by everyone except the individual sufferer who writhes under its tortures.

A priest can achieve great victories with an army of women at his command.