War was then no longer this noble and unified outburst of souls in love with glory that he had imagined from Napoleon's proclamations.
To seem sorrowful is not in good taste: You're supposed to seem bored.
Love is a well from which we can drink only as much as we have put in, and the stars that shine from it are only our eyes looking in.
On a cold winter morning a cigar fortifies the soul.
Our true passions are selfish.
The boredom of married life inevitable destroys love, when love has preceded marriage.