A young bride is like a plucked flower; but a guilty wife is like a flower that had been walked over.

The smallest flower is a thought, a life answering to some feature of the Great Whole, of whom they have a persistent intuition.

Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside.

True love is eternal, infinite, and always like itself. It is equal and pure, without violent demonstrations: it is seen with white hairs and is always young in the heart.

A husband who submits to his wife's yoke is justly held an object of ridicule. A woman's influence ought to be entirely concealed.

A good marriage would be between a blind wife and a deaf husband.