Economized love is never real love.

Manners are the hypocrisy of a nation.

With monuments as with men, position means everything.

Love is a game in which one always cheats.

The widow employed her woman's malice to devise a system of covert persecution.

A man like you is a god, not just a machine covered with skin, but a theater where fine feelings sprout and grow-and feelings are all that matters, as far as I'm concerned. Is a feeling anything but an entire world poured into a thought?

Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside.