A city (Paris) where great ideas perish, done to death by a witticism

Death unites as well as separates; it silences all paltry feeling.

Ideas devour the ages as men are devoured by their passions. When man is cured, human nature will cure itself perhaps.

Wit needs leisure, and certain inequalities of position

The art of motherhood involves much silent, unobtrusive self-denial, an hourly devotion which finds no detail too minute.

The majority of husbands remind me of an orangutan trying to play the violin.