Love, like medicine, is only the art of encouraging nature.
The scoundrel has his good qualities, and the good man his weaknesses.
One has lived long enough if one has had time to win the love of women and the esteem of men.
An opportunity missed once will present itself again, whereas a too hasty action can never be recalled.
Success, which is not always a proof of merit, depends more often on the choice of a subject than on its execution.
The shame love causes is like its pain; we only feel it once. We may feign it afterwards, but we do not feel it. However, the pleasure remains, and that is indeed something.
Man enjoys the happiness he feels, woman the happiness she gives. This difference, so essential and yet so seldom noticed, has a marked difference on the whole of their respective behaviour. A man's pleasure is to satisfy desires, a woman's is chiefly to arouse them.
Only love can make one happy.
One's ridiculousness increases in proportion as one denies it.
One hand was needed for power, the other for love: where is the orator that could aspire to grace in such a position?