The more a race is governed by its passions, the less it has acquired the habit of cautious and reasoned argument, the more intense will be its love of music.

Every true passion thinks only of itself.

When intimacy followed love in Italy there were no longer any vain pretensions between two lovers.

Indeed, man has two different beings inside him. What devil thought of that malicious touch?

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.

Far less envy in America than in France.

Pleasure is often spoiled by describing it.