Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
God created the flirt as soon as he made the fool.
Smallness in a great man seems smaller by its disproportion with all the rest.
Jean Prouvaire was timid only in repose. Once excited, he burst forth, a sort of mirth accentuated his enthusiasm, and he was at once both laughing and lyric.
Try as you will, you cannot annihilate that eternal relic of the human heart, love.
Habit is the nursery of errors.