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Many men are deeply moved by the mere semblance of suffering in a woman they take the look of pain for a sign of constancy or of love.
Men die in despair, while spirits die in ecstasy.
One should believe in marriage as in the immortality of the soul.
Marriage must incessantly contend with a monster that devours everything: familiarity.
The majority of husbands remind me of an orangutan trying to play the violin.
No man should marry until he has studied anatomy and dissected at least one woman.
Nobody loves a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or intelligent. We love because we love.
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.
Love may be or it may not, but where it is, it ought to reveal itself in its immensity.
The fact is that love is of two kinds, one which commands, and one which obeys. The two are quite distinct, and the passion to which the one gives rise is not the passion of the other.