A lover teaches a wife all her husband has kept from her.
HONORE DE BALZACNothing is a greater impediment to being on good terms with others than being ill at ease with yourself.
More Honore de Balzac Quotes
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A man wastes his time going to hear some of our eloquent modern preachers; they may change his opinions, but never his conduct.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
Our heart is a treasury; if you pour out all its wealth at once, you are bankrupt.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
The good we do to others is spoilt unless we efface ourselves so completely that those we help have no sense of inferiority.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
One should believe in marriage as in the immortality of the soul.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
I can no longer think of anything but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you. I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you, a thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
Woman is a delightful instrument of pleasure, but it is necessary to know its trembling strings, to study the position of them, the timid keyboard, the fingering so changeful and capricious which befits it.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
Nobody loves a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or intelligent. We love because we love.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
Like hunger, physical love is a necessity. But man’s appetite for amour is never so regular or so sustained as his appetite for the delights of the table.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
People exaggerate both happiness and unhappiness; we are never so fortunate nor so unfortunate as people say we are.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
Old maids, having never bent their temper or their lives to other lives and other tempers, as woman’s destiny requires, have for the most part a mania for making everything about them bend to them.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
As a rule, only the poor are generous.
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Cruelty and fear shake hands together.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
We love because we love.
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When Religion and Royalty are swept away, the people will attack the great, and after the great, they will fall upon the rich.
HONORE DE BALZAC -
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.
HONORE DE BALZAC