The fact is that love is of two kinds, one which commands, and one which obeys. The two are quite distinct, and the passion to which the one gives rise is not the passion of the other.
Whereas scoundrels become reconciled after knifing one another, lovers break up irrevocably over a mere glance or word.
Love may be or it may not, but where it is, it ought to reveal itself in its immensity.
For passion, be it observed, brings insight with it; it can give a sort of intelligence to simpletons, fools, and idiots, especially during youth.
Vice is perhaps a desire to learn everything.
When tempted to be unfaithful, the intellectual woman will try to inspire her husband with indifference, the sentimental woman with hatred, and the passionate woman with disgust.
Only when one has learned to acknowledge that wiser minds have made better words to come out of our mouths may we truly, then, begin to speak them.
The man as he converses is the lover; silent, he is the husband.
As soon as coffee is in your stomach, there is a general commotion. Ideas begin to move…similes arise, the paper is covered. Coffee is your ally and writing ceases to be a struggle.
In intimate family life, there comes a moment when children, willingly or no, become the judges of their parents.
In the first woman we love, we love everything. Growing older, we love the woman only.
Man is no match for woman where mischief reigns.
The boor covers himself, the rich man or the fool adorns himself, and the elegant man gets dressed.
Women see everything or nothing according to the inclination of their hearts. Love is their sole light.
When women love, they forgive everything...
For a sick man the world begins at his pillow and ends at the foot of his bed.
With a woman, always make good use of a secret. She will be proportionally grateful to you, like a scoundrel who grants his respect to an honest man he has been unable to swindle.
Old maids, having never bent their temper or their lives to other lives and other tempers, as woman's destiny requires, have for the most part a mania for making everything about them bend to them.
How sternly we reproach virtue for its failings, how indulgent we are to the better qualities of vice!
Sometimes at the best moments a single word or a look is enough.'
A good husband is never the first to go to sleep at night or the last to awake in the morning.
Ideas devour the ages as men are devoured by their passions. When man is cured, human nature will cure itself perhaps.
Old men are prone to invest the futures of young men with their own past sorrows.
Hope is a memory that desires, the memory is a memory that has enjoyed.
Death is as unexpected in his caprice as a courtesan in her disdain; but death is truer – Death has never forsaken any man
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