The most beautiful of altars, he said, is the soul of an unhappy creature consoled and thankfing God.

Here we stop. Upon the threshold of wedding nights stands an angel smiling, his finger on his lip.

Is there not in every human soul a primitive spark, a divine element, incorruptible in this world and immortal in the next, which can be developed by goodness, kindled, lit up, and made to radiate, and which evil can never entirely extinguish.

To see so much misery everywhere, I suspect that God is not rich. He keeps up appearances, it is true, but I feel the pinch. He gives a revolution as a merchant, whose credit is low, gives a ball.

The delight we inspire in others has this enchanting peculiarity that, far from being diminished like every other reflection, it returns to us more radiant than ever.

What says the law? You will not kill. How does it say it? By killing!

Never laugh at those who suffer; suffer sometimes those who laugh.