It would be curious to know what leads a man to become a stationer rather than a baker, when he is no longer compelled, as among the Egyptians, to succeed to his father’s craft.
A young bride is like a plucked flower; but a guilty wife is like a flower that had been walked over.
A flow of words is a sure sign of duplicity.
First love is a kind of vaccination which saves a man from catching the complaint the second time.
A good marriage would be between a blind wife and a deaf husband.
A lover always thinks of his mistress first and himself second; with a husband it runs the other way.
Laws are spider webs through which the big flies pass and the little ones get caught.
A good husband is never the first to go to sleep at night or the last to awake in the morning.
A mother’s happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.
A mother who is really a mother is never free.
A mother’s life, you see, is one long succession of dramas, now soft and tender, now terrible. Not an hour but has its joys and fears.
A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea.
All humanity is passion; without passion, religion, history, novels, art would be ineffectual.
An unfulfilled vocation drains the color from a man’s entire existence.
At fifteen, beauty and talent do not exist; there can only be promise of the coming woman.
Behind every great fortune lies a great crime.
Children, dear and loving children, can alone console a woman for the loss of her beauty.
Between the daylight gambler and the player at night there is the same difference that lies between a careless husband and the lover swooning under his lady’s window.
Chance, my dear, is the sovereign deity in child-bearing.
Bureaucracy is a giant mechanism operated by pygmies.
But reason always cuts a poor figure beside sentiment; the one being essentially restricted, like everything that is positive, while the other is infinite.
A man is a poor creature compared to a woman.
Clouds symbolize the veils that shroud God.
Excess of joy is harder to bear than any amount of sorrow.
Courtesy is only a thin veneer on the general selfishness.
Death unites as well as separates; it silences all paltry feeling.
The man as he converses is the lover; silent, he is the husband.
Equality may perhaps be a right, but no power on earth can ever turn it into a fact.
The duration of passion is proportionate with the original resistance of the woman.
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