“Jealousy contains more of self-love than of love.”

Decency is the least of all laws, but yet it is the law which is most strictly observed.

Why can we remember the tiniest detail that has happened to us, and not remember how many times we have told it to the same person.

The one thing people are the most liberal with, is their advice.

He who lives without folly isn’t so wise as he thinks.

Heat of blood makes young people change their inclinations often, and habit makes old ones keep to theirs a great while.

There are few virtuous women who are not bored with their trade.

True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have seen.

Hope, deceiving as it is, serves at least to lead us to the end of our lives by an agreeable route.

What makes the pain we feel from shame and jealousy so cutting is that vanity can give us no assistance in bearing them.

It is almost always a fault of one who loves not to realize when he ceases to be loved.

Everyone complains of his memory, and nobody complains of his judgment.

It is easier to know men in general, than men in particular.

We seldom find people ungrateful so long as it is thought we can serve them.

No man is clever enough to know all the evil he does.

Quarrels would not last long if the fault was only on one side.

The principal point of cleverness is to know how to value things just as they deserve.

A column about errors will contain errors.

There once was a man called Rousseau who wrote a book containing nothing but ideas. The second edition was bound in the skins of those who laughed at the first.

All our loves are contained in all our other loves.

Language is the armory of the human mind, and at once contains the trophies of its past and the weapons of its future conquests.

Nothing can permanently please, which doesn’t contain in itself the reason why it is so, and not otherwise.

Books have to be read it is the only way of discovering what they contain.

Even as I felt myself solidly contained by the expectant looks of my children. It was the fault of the torture that my husband had inflicted. But enough, I had to tear the pain from memory, I had to sandpaper away the scratches that were damaging my brain.

The history of man for the nine months preceding his birth would, probably, be far more interesting and contain events of greater moment than all the three score and ten years that follow it.