What is art? Nature concentrated.
Clouds symbolize the veils that shroud God.
Virtually all men of action incline to Fatality just as most thinkers incline to Providence.
The country is provincial; it becomes ridiculous when it tries to ape Paris.
Remorse is impotent; it will repeat its faults. Repentance only is a true force; it puts an end to everything.
Your modest savant smiles as he says to his admirers: What have I done? Nothing. Man does not invent a force, he directs it.
Poles offer a mobility like that of the wind that blows over the immense plains and marches of Poland. Show a Pole a precipice, and he will leap headlong over it.
Self-love is as protective as the Deity; Disenchantment is as perspicacious as a surgeon; Experience is as provident as a mother. Such are the theologic virtues of marriage.
Most women wish to feel that their spirit has been violated. Do they not, indeed, flatter themselves on never yielding save to force?
The Police and the Society of Jesus posses in common the virtue of never forsaking their enemies as friends.
There are two kinds of poets: those who feel and those who express themselves. The former are happier.
One of the most detestable habits of Lilliputian minds is to find their own littleness in others.
In Paris every man must have had a love affair. What woman wants something that no other woman ever wanted.
Discouragement is of all ages: In youth it is a presentiment, in old age a remembrance.
At thirty years a woman asks her lover to give her back the esteem she has forfeited for his sake; she lives only for him, her thoughts are full of his future, he must have a great career, she bids him make it glorious; she can obey, entreat, command, humble herself, or rise in pride; times without number she brings comfort when a young girl can only make moan.
Woman has this in common with angels, that suffering beings belong especially to her.
Heaven should be kind to stupid people, for no one else can be consistently.
We do not wish success yet we obtain it. Always we find what we are not looking for. These words are too true not to become a proverb some day.
Love is the only way on which even the dim-witted reaches certain heights.
It is not hope but despair that gives us the measure of our ambitions. We may yield secretly to beautiful poems of hope but grief looms start and stripped of all veils.
One of the glories of society is to have created woman where Nature had made only a female; to have created a continuity of desire where Nature thought only of perpetuating the species; and, in fine, to have invented love.
In a husband, there is only a man; in a married woman, there is a man, a father, a mother and a woman.
When there is an old maid in the house, a watchdog is unnecessary.
The secret of great fortunes without apparent cause is a crime forgotten, forgotten because it was properly done.
Love is the only passion which suffers neither past nor future.
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