Outside of Paris, there is no hope for the cultured.

A husband is a plaster that cures all the ills of girlhood.

There's nothing people can't contrive to praise or condemn and find justification for doing so, according to their age and their inclinations.

Too great haste leads us to error.

There's a sort of decency among the dead, a remarkable discretion: you never find them making any complaint against the doctor who killed them!

The more we love our friends, the less we flatter them; it is by excusing nothing that pure love shows itself.

Cultivated people should be superior to any consideration so sordid as a mercenary interest.