There are fathers who do not love their children; there is no grandfather who does not adore his grandson.

Thus, during those nineteen years of torture and slavery, did this soul rise and fall at the same time. Light entered on the one side, and darkness on the other.

I write with one hand, but I fight with both.

...Human thought has no limit. At its risk and peril, it analyzes and dissects its own fascination. We could almost say that, by a sort of splendid reaction, it fascinates nature; the mysterious world surrounding us returns what it receives; it is likely that contemplators are contemplated.

In the opera we call love, the libretto is almost nothing.

Too much improvisation leaves the mind stupidly void.

But when ill indeed, Even dismissing the doctor don't always succeed.