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.

In a husband there is only a man; in a married woman there is a man, a father, and mother, and a woman

Thought is a key to all treasures; the miser's gains are ours without his cares. Thus I have soared above this world, where my enjoyment have been intellectual joys.

Our most bitter enemies are our own kith and kin. Kings have no brothers, no sons, no mother!

A mother's happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.

Suicide, moreover, was at the time in vogue in Paris: what more suitable key to the mystery of life for a skeptical society?