Who has not raised a tombstone, here and there, over buried hopes and dead joys, on the road of life? Like the scars of the heart, they are not to be obliterated.

The more sins you confess, the more books you will sell.

The less heart, the more comfort.

Inconstancy is the child of satiety.

Old age is women's hell.

The passions do not die out; they burn out.

Glances are the first billets-doux of love.