Our true passions are selfish.

What is really beautiful must always be true.

In love, unlike most other passions, the recollection of what you have had and lost is always better than what you can hope for in the future.

True love makes the thought of death frequent, easy, without terrors; it merely becomes the standard of comparison, the price one would pay for many things.

The pleasures of love are always in proportion to our fears.

This is the curse of our age, even the strangest aberrations are no cure for boredom.