In the first woman we love, we love everything. Growing older, we love the woman only.
Love and work have the virtues of making a man pretty indifferent to anything else.
Love based upon money and vanity forms the most stubborn of passions.
Love is not only a feeling, it is also an art. A simple word, a sensitive precaution, a mere nothing reveal to a woman the sublime artist who can touch her heart without withering it.
People who are in love suspect nothing or everything.
No woman dares to refuse love without a motive, for nothing is more natural than to yield to love.
Love, according to our contemporary poets, is a privilege which two beings confer upon one another, whereby they may mutually cause one another much sorrow over absolutely nothing.
Love is the only passion which suffers neither past nor future.
Vulgar souls look hastily and superficially at the sea and accuse it of monotony; other more privileged beings could spend a lifetime admiring it and discovering new and changing phenomena that delight them. So it is with love.
True lovers know how trifling a thing is money yet how difficult to blend with love!
The man whom fate employs to awaken love in the heart of a young girl is often unaware of his work and therefore leaves it uncompleted.
The pleasures of love proceed successively from a distich to a quatrain, from a quatrain to a sonnet, from a sonnet to a ballad, from a ballad to an ode, from an ode to a cantata, and from a cantata to a dithyramb. A husband who begins with the dithyramb is a fool.
Though your vulgarian does not readily admit that feelings can change overnight, certainly two lovers often part far more abruptly than they came together.
The greatest tyranny is to love I where we are not loved again.
Love is precisely to the moral nature what the sun is to the earth.
To speak of love is to make love.
A knowledge of mankind and of things that surround us gives us that second education which proves far move valuable than our first because it alone turns out a truly accomplished man.
Old men are prone to invest the futures of young men with their own past sorrows.
Several sorts of memory exist in us; body and mind each possesses one peculiar to itself. Nostalgia, for instance, is a malady of the physical memory.
Man is no match for woman where mischief reigns.