Women of forty always fancy they have found the Fountain of Youth, and that they remain young in the midst of the ruins of their day.
Whoever embarks with women embarks with a storm; but they are themselves the safety boats.
The Parisienne is not in fashion, she is fashion.
Friendship lives on its income, love devours its capital.
Have you not sometimes seen happiness? Yes, the happiness of others.
Up to forty a woman has only forty springs in her heart. After that age she has only forty winters.
Genius has its fatality. Must we not see in its works a manifestation of the will of Providence?
Hope is the virgin of the ideal world, who opens beaten to as in the midst of every tempest.
Imagination, whatever may be said to the contrary, will always hold a place in history, as truth does in romance. Has not romance been penned with history in view?
The graves of those we have loved and lost distress and console as.
