The worldly relations of men and women often form an equation that cancels out without warning when some insignificant factor has been added to either side.

The world belongs to the Enthusiast who keeps cool.

A young man must let his ideas grow, not be continually rooting them up to see how they are getting on.

The wives who are not deserted, but who have to feed and clothe and comfort and scold and advise, are the true objects of commiseration; wives whose existence is given over to a ceaseless vigil of cantankerous affection.

It may be that, while we plodding realists go on, for ever preoccupied with our daily chores, abstracting a microscopic pleasure from each microscopic duty, your true romantic has the truer vision, and beholds, afar off, in all its lurid splendour and terrible proportions, the piquant adventure we call life.

There is nothing like an odor to stir memories.

Terrible and sublime thought, that every moment is supreme for some man and woman, every hour the apotheosis of some passion!