To rove about, musing, that is to say loitering, is, for a philosopher, a good way of spending time, especially in that kind of mock rurality, ugly but odd, and partaking of two natures, which surrounds certain large cities, particularly Paris.

He had not yet lived long enough to have discovered that nothing is more close at hand then the impossible, and that what must be looked for is always the unforeseen.

What happened between those two beings? Nothing. They were adoring one another.

Whenever a man's friends begin to compliment him about looking young, he may be sure that they think he is growing old.

No man is more unhappy than the one who is never in adversity; the greatest affliction of life is never to be afflicted.

Her soul trembled on her lips like a drop of dew on a flower.

The future has several names. For the weak, it is impossible; for the fainthearted, it is unknown; but for the valiant, it is ideal.