We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.

The happiness which is lacking makes one think even the happiness one has unbearable.

Reason guides but a small part of man, and the rest obeys feeling, true or false, and passion, good or bad.

Our experience is composed rather of illusions lost than of wisdom acquired.

Literature was formerly an art and finance a trade; today it is the reverse.

We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.

Pleasure once tasted satisfies less than the desire experienced for its torments.