No one knows like a woman how to say things which are at once gentle and deep.
The soul does not give itself up to despair until it has exhausted all illusions.
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.
I think, therefore I doubt.
The wise man does not grow old, but ripens.
My tastes are aristocratic, my actions democratic.