Nothing is irredeemably ugly but sin.
Manners are the hypocrisy of a nation.
A woman filled with faith in the one she loves is the creation of a novelist's imagination.
What a thing of fantasy a woman may become after dusk.
A deist is an atheist with an eye cocked for the off-chance of some advantage.
The greatest joy a petty soul can taste is to dupe a great soul and catch it in a snare.
There is neither vice nor virtue, there are only circumstances.
Like most young people, these two attributed to the world their own intelligence and virtues. Youth who knows no failure has no mercy on the faults of other people; but it has also a sublime faith in them.
Modesty is the conscience of the body.
Virtue in women is perhaps a question of temperament.
To promote laughter without joining in it greatly heightens the effect.
In Paris, the greatest expression of personal satisfaction known to man is the smirk on the face of a male, highly pleased with himself as he leaves the boudoir of a lady.
Foppery, being the chronic condition of women, is not so much noticed as it is when it breaks out on the person of the male bird.
Rare is the man who suffers no remorse as he passes from the state of confidant to that of rival.
The habits of life form the soul, and the soul forms the physical presence.
I prefer thought to action, an idea to a transaction, contemplation to activity.
Resignation is a daily suicide.
It is no sin to be tempted; the wickedness lies in being overcome.
The great secret of social alchemy is to profit best from each stage in our lives, to gather all its leaves in spring, all its flowers in summer, and all its fruits in autumn.
Nothing so fortifies a friendship as a belief on the part of one friend that he is superior to the other.
Man judges of nature in relation to itself; the angelic spirit judges of it in relation to heaven. In short, to the spirits everything speaks.
A man may and ought to pride himself more on his will than on his talent.
Are not our noblest feelings as it were the poems of our will.
To forget is the great secret of strong creative natures; to forget is the way nature herself who knows no past and who at every hour begins the mysteries of her untiring labors afresh.
This coffee falls into your stomach, and straightway there is a general commotion. Ideas begin to move like the battalions of the Grand Army of the battlefield, and the battle takes place. Things remembered arrive at full gallop, ensuing to the wind. The light cavalry of comparisons deliver a magnificent deploying charge, the artillery of logic hurry up with their train and ammunition, the shafts of with start up like sharpshooters. Similes arise, the paper is covered with ink; for the struggle commences and is concluded with torrents of black water, just as a battle with powder.
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