It is difficult to escape from the prevailing disease of one's generation.

Ah, Sir, a novel is a mirror carried along a high road. At one moment it reflects to your vision the azure skies, at another the mire of the puddles at your feet. And the man who carries this mirror in his pack will be accused by you of being immoral! His mirror shews the mire, and you blame the mirror! Rather blame that high road upon which the puddle lies, still more the inspector of roads who allows the water to gather and the puddle to form.

When a man leaves his mistress, he runs the risk of being betrayed two or three times daily.

A forty-year-old woman is only something to men who have loved her in her youth.

Love is like a fever which comes and goes quite independently of the will. ... there are no age limits for love.

Our true passions are selfish.

Love is like fever; it comes and goes without the will having any part of the process.