I am not deep, but I am very wide.

Life cannot go on without a great deal of forgetting.

Marriage must incessantly contend with a monster that devours everything: familiarity.

The more a man judges, the less he loves.

I left, stifling my generous impulse, for I have often observed that while a charitable act may do no harm to the benefactor, it is death to the one who receives it.

Surely a man must be in a parlours state to excite pity, extremely weak to inspire sympathy, or very evil-looking to make a soul tremble in a den like this, where pain must hold its tongue, poverty remain cheerful, and despair retain its self respect.

Economized love is never real love.